


no star is lost

by lxlypotter, witchless



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Avatar Katara (Avatar), Blue Spirit - Freeform, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Iroh is the angel we deserve, Katara is a badass, Slow Burn, Zuko is clueless, antics, did I mention slow burn and angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22612852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lxlypotter/pseuds/lxlypotter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchless/pseuds/witchless
Summary: One hundred years ago, the Fire Nation laid waste to the air temples and captured the Avatar. After a century of silence, most think that the Avatar was never reborn and have accepted that soon there won’t be a stretch of land that the Fire Nation does not rule. But when a banished prince witnesses a flare of white light in the South Pole, those doubts are erased—the Avatar is alive and he’s determined to find them, wherever they may hide, and restore his honor. (Little does he know that the waterbender fugitive he captured is more than what he thinks.)orKatara is the Avatar. Zuko arrests her while searching for the Avatar but cannot for the life of him figure out that she's the one he's looking for. Angsty, slow burn romance ensues.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 94
Kudos: 259





	1. prologue

**I.**

With the men in the tribe all gone to fight in the war, the responsibility of hunting falls to Katara and Sokka. They’re the oldest of the children and the only ones capable of making the trip out into the tundra. If they don’t bring home enough meat to dry or stew, it is their fault when the children make a game of counting each other’s ribs.

Katara reminds herself of this fact, grumbles it under her breath as she shuffles along the icy tundra. The wind is strong and she can feel it whistling under her clothes and snapping at every inch of exposed skin. Even worse, the bleak early spring sun has grown hazy as storm clouds roll in from the sea and she can see snow catching in her eyelashes.

Sokka is several steps ahead of her. With a spear in one hand, he’s got the other tucked into a pocket and a boomerang hangs at his side. His broad shoulders are curled inward and his hood is pulled up, hiding the wolf’s warrior tail that he’s oh-so proud of. 

Her brother comes to a stop and Katara comes to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

“What is it?” she asks, tugging on the hood of her parka to cover her raw nose. 

“We’re here. The ice should be thin enough for me to make a hole to fish out of.”

Katara hums. “Are you sure you don’t want me to try and make one?”

Sokka scowls and casts a sidelong look at her. His blue eyes are several shades darker than her own, the exact shade of the juniper berries that grow in the summertime. “Please, for all that is good and holy, _don’t_. Last time you played with magic water, I ended up completely soaked.”

This time, it’s Katara’s turn to scowl. “It’s not magic. It’s _waterbending_.”

He shrugs. “Same difference.”

“Whatever. You have fun sawing a hole into ice that’s likely three feet thick. I’m going to look for a seal’s air hole and see if I can’t catch one.”

Sokka’s laugh is a bark she barely hears as the wind picks up pace. “The day you catch something—and manage to keep ahold of it—is the day I shave my tail off.”

Katara’s hip cocks to the side and she has half the mind to use her waterbending to send him flying several feet back. _We’ll see what he has to say then,_ she thinks. But in the end, she only spits an insult, turns heel and begins her search because she knows that any attempt to use her bending will end in disaster.

In that respect, at least, Sokka is right.

It’s not her fault she’s a shoddy waterbender, though. There’s just no one around to teach her. She’s the only waterbender in the South Pole and if Gran Gran is to be believed, it’s been like that for a long time. With the only people capable of teaching her all the way across the world at their sister tribe in the north pole, learning to properly bend wasn’t dream she’d likely fulfill anytime soon. 

Katara had the Fire Nation to blame for that. Long before she was born, the Fire Lord had ordered his armies to lay siege to her tribe. One by one, they’d decimated their numbers until eventually there were none left—except her.

(And the only reason that the raiders haven’t returned for her since is because of a reason she isn’t quite ready to face and isn’t sure if she ever will be.)

Despite the cold, Katara feels sticky with sweat under all seven of her layers of clothing. She wishes she could at least strip out of her heavy outer coat but knows she’d regret it the instant she does if the smoke her breath creates is any indicator. She wishes summer would make its appearance already; the winter has been especially hard and it is easy to see how reluctant it is to let go as spring claws itself into existence. 

Katara heads north, working her way towards the coast where the turtle seals like to come up for air. She likely won’t catch anything, much to her chagrin, but standing next to Sokka while he fishes isn’t on her list of things she’d enjoy doing. At the very least, she can see if any of the seals have had their pups yet. She’s always had a soft spot for those round, watery eyes and it’s likely why she can’t catch anything. 

In the distance, she sees a small, gray head blot the white horizon before disappearing. Katara grins. _There you are._ Katara quickens her pace from the slow shuffle into a meaningful stride. Above her, thunder sounds and Katara winces. She and Sokka will have to return home early if the storm keeps up its pace. 

She’s half tempted to break into a jog to see if the seal is still hovering just below the ice when the tell tale _crack!_ of ice splintering and breaking cracks through the afternoon. There’s just enough time—just a moment’s notice—for her to scream _Sokka!_ before she’s under the ice and the current is ripping her far, far away. 

When she was a little girl, her father had told her about a time he’d fallen into the water. The way he told it, it was early autumn and he’d been off exploring the forming ice plateaus with a boy his age. It had been terribly cold outside and so they hadn’t given it much thought when they wandered out onto the plateaus. The ice had broken under her father’s weight, far too thin since the water underneath was still warm enough to keep the surface from freezing completely. Her father said that there was no way to describe the way he’d felt.

The panic as the water closed over his head. The weight of his soaked clothes as they pulled him deeper and deeper. The burn in his lungs as he clawed to the surface. 

Luckily, her father’s friend had been there. He’d pulled Hakoda out of the water after breaking through another thin spot and the worst of his injuries had been a case of the chills that stayed with him for weeks.

But Katara—she is not so lucky.

Sokka is far away, hacking a hole in the ice, thinking about the jerky he’ll eat for dinner. And, _spirits,_ the wind was so loud. Had he heard her go under?

She doesn’t think he did.

Every muscle in her body locks into place and her mouth is still open in a silent scream as she tumbles further and further away from the surface. When the initial shock is gone, Katara kicks and squirms and tries to pry open the buttons of her parka so she can slip out and swim toward the surface but her fingers just won’t work the way she wants them to. 

A minute passes. When the second begins to tick by, she feels _it_ for the first time. 

There’s a claw at her chest, scraping along the tender flesh and begging her—

 _Breathe_. 

Her eyes burn as the ocean pulls her along and she’s helpless to fight it. Underneath the ice, the world is dark and inky and she has no idea which way is up or down. She can feel her heart thrumming in her chest, a feral creature with only one thought: _survive_. 

She tries to bend—she really does—but her command is a whisper against the ocean’s raging bellow. When she feels starbursts behind her eyes and that quiet request in her chest becomes a shouted demand she has no choice but to listen.

Katara breathes. The water rushes in.

She thinks she’s dead. Surely, she must be. Because it’s so dark under here, dark and dead and terrifying. Something otherworldly slinks over skin. It whispers to her, too, but it’s voice is different from the one that’d begged her to take her first breath in this new world.

No, it’s something _other_ , something old and ancient and strong, something even Tui and La respect enough to obey.

She’s not sure where it comes from, but light bleeds into her vision, a lightning bolt in the depths of the sea. And when the flash is gone, when she no longer feels as if she’s staring into a harsh winter’s day sun, she finds that she’s no longer in that endless, bottomless black.

Sokka is above her, his hands pressed on her chest. Katara doesn’t have time for another thought before she’s turning to the side, coughing up a never ending river of water. 

When there’s air in her lungs again, Sokka pulls her into his lap and squeezes her tightly. She can feel his fingers digging into her bicep but she doesn’t mind. Not when she’s clinging to him with just as much desperation.

She croaks his name and she can feel his Adam’s apple bob against her forehead when his chin rests against the top of her head. 

Katara tries again. “Sokka.” His grip tightens and she feels his posture go rigid. “What happened? How did I… get up here?”

Sokka makes a panicked noise in the back of his throat. Katara is sure that if he holds her any closer, he’s going to leave bruises. 

“Sokka, what’s going on?” Katara groans when she shifts. Her entire body aches. 

“Katara, you’re… you were... You entered the Avatar State. I think you’re the Avatar.”

Katara blinks once, twice, in attempt to stave off the black dots flecking her vision but the the words swell in her mind— _you are the Avatar you are the Avatar—_ and she’s helpless to stop it as unconsciousness digs its teeth in deep and drags her under.

**II.**

When Zuko sees a flare of light, a large burst of energy, on the horizon, he can't help himself—can't help the way his heart twists in his chest, the way relief fills every pore in his body.

"Finally," he says. “I've found you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all aboard the zutara train! this fic is going to be written between two different writers. i, witchless, wrote this prologue. chapter one is going to be written by lxlypotter. i'll write chapter two and then it'll alternate so on and so forth. we have a lot planned for this story and are so excited to share it with you all! rated M for ~smut~ chapters we have planned for the future. but, if you didn't see the tag, this story is very, very slow burn. you've been warned.
> 
> ———
> 
> NEXT — the banished prince


	2. the banished prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: there's a few lines of dialogue pulled from the show so anything you recognize belongs to nickelodeon, bryke, etc., etc.!

**I.**

The first thing Katara notices is the unusual warmth surrounding her. Spring has only just started—the tiger-seal cubs are still newborns—but the usual tell-tale chill in her bones that accompanies life at the poles is missing.

The second thing she notices is the weightlessness. She doesn’t feel attached to, well, _anything_ when she should be snuggly tucked into her furs. She should hear Gran Gran shuffling around the fires, getting ready to prepare breakfast and she should hear the _crunch!_ of snow breaking under Sokka’s heavy boots as he returns from his morning exercises. 

She opens her eyes, blinks, and wakes up.

Instead of walls and floors covered in pelts, tapestries and banners stained in bright colors, she finds stone walls. There’s one window and what seems to be very early morning sun trickles in, stripping the floor in soft light. There’s a vague haze around her vision that Katara can’t seem to place. She feels a sense of nostalgia, of longing, about this place—a place she has never been. 

She slips out of bed, her bare feet gently touching—no, not quite touching—the floor beneath her. Her instincts _(or is it muscle memory?)_ are telling her where to go. Despite how much she teases Sokka over his self-proclaimed, razor-sharp instincts, she decides it may be best to follow her big brother’s advice and listen to her gut feeling.

Stepping out into the hallway, she takes a left and allows the breeze to guide her. _Is it actually guiding me?_ she wonders but follows it through narrow, winding hallways anyway. As she walks, she sees ivy crawling over the walls and moss grows between the cracks of the stone walls. She can hear the chittering squabble of animals somewhere in the distance and though the place appears empty, abandoned, she swears she can scent something sweet and baked in the air.

She steps out onto a wide balcony, located high up— _really_ high up; Katara’s never been so close to clouds before—in a beautiful mountain range. As far as the eye can see, there are snowy mountain peaks and the rising sun paints the clouds in soft pinks and purples that bleed into one another. Her heart pounds harder for just one beat. It’s so different from her home and it’s harsh, savage landscape… but still something about it eases a homesick feeling within her that she hadn’t known existed. 

_The Southern Air Temple_ , she thinks and then questions how it is exactly that she knows this. Before she can delve too deep into her thoughts, she spots a man sitting on the railing of the balcony. His back is turned to her, his legs dangling over the edge as he peers into the bottomless world below. His head is bald with a faded blue stripe running up the back of his neck and over the top of his head. He’s dressed in robes that engulf him in bright oranges and yellows and look like they are several sizes too large.

She takes a step forward.

“Katara,” he says, gently. “I was wondering when you would arrive.”

His voice is laced with mischief, an undercurrent that lurks just below the surface. He turns as Katara approaches and she takes in the features of his face. He looks to be about Gran Gran’s age and his short white beard is the only hair on his head. The blue stripe she observed earlier comes to an arrow on his forehead, directly between his strikingly-bright gray eyes. If his voice is any indication of the mischievous child inside, his eyes are the nail in the coffin. 

“Avatar Aang?” she whispers.

She’s heard the stories, of course. Years before she was born, before even Gran Gran was born, the Fire Nation used Sozin’s Comet to not only start the war but to capture the Avatar as well. It’d been bloody and brutal but it had worked, unfortunately. Aang was taken captive as a twelve-year-old boy and the smoldering remains of his people were left to scatter in the wind.

If she were really the Avatar, as Sokka had told her before she passed out, Aang must have lived a long time in captivity. Her heart clenches at what he may have endured at the hands of the Fire Nation. 

(She knows all too well how cruel they can be when they want to.)

He smiles as she says his name. “It’s good to finally meet you, Katara. I’ve been watching over you since the day you were born.” Her cheeks flush. If that were the case, he’d seen plenty of embarrassing moments—most notably her pathetic excuses for waterbending. He certainly can’t be impressed. _He’s probably wishing someone else were the Avatar. I bet he’s going to tell me as much, too._

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called your spirit here, young Avatar.” Katara’s pulse quickens. So Sokka was right. A part of her had still been in denial. She _is_ the Avatar. Sensing her panic, Aang laughs. “Please, don’t be alarmed. Raava doesn’t make her decision lightly. You were chosen for a reason.”

“Where were you?” Katara blurts, without thinking. But she can’t seem to stop the words as they bubble to the surface. The rage she’s felt for her people, her decimated people, spills out of her. “Why didn’t you do anything to escape? You’re the Avatar; you could’ve done anything. You were gone for eighty-four years. At the very least, why didn’t you—”

She stops herself. _Why didn’t you let yourself die so a new Avatar would be born?_

There’s a pause, swollen and pregnant, and she wonders if she’s made him angry.

Aang sighs before answering. He looks tired but there’s no trace of anger on his kind features. “I had to wait. I was only twelve when I was captured. I had just mastered airbending when they came for me. And being in captivity in the Fire Nation didn’t give one many chances to master three other elements, you know,” he says. The laughter is back in his voice but there’s a pinched quality to it. “It was hard. I remember Avatar Roku coming to me in the first days, telling me to wait and that, whatever happened, I couldn’t go into the Avatar State. It would be my undoing. I knew in time that I was waiting for a sign—from Raava, maybe, or from the other spirits. A sign that it was time for my soul to leave this world and for the Avatar to be reborn into someone worthy of the great destiny laid before them. By the time I received it, I knew I was ready. I let the Fire Nation kill me.”

Katara’s eyes hold tears that threaten to spill over. They are sad tears for the life Aang could have lived. They are angry tears for the people that the spirits let waste away. But really, they are tears of fear. She had grown up in the South Pole, in a village of maybe fifty people, now down to twenty, never around a single bender. How could she catch up? She’s sixteen. Most Avatars had _at least_ mastered their native element and were beginning their second by her age. 

Aang’s voice interrupted her thoughts before she could spiral completely. “I can see the turmoil residing in your mind, Katara, but let me assure you—Raava has made her choice wisely. Even if I could disagree, I wouldn’t. You are strong of heart and will. You come from the Southern Water Tribe, yes? Your people have instilled in you a resilient body and mind. Most importantly, you care deeply for your fellow man; it is impossible for you to turn your back on a person in need of help. This will be your greatest asset, so use it well. But do keep in mind, young Avatar, that this could also be your undoing. Protect others and perform your duty as Avatar, but be wary of those who seek greatness by dishonorable means.”

She has no time to dwell on the words of advice the Avatar— _no,_ she _is the Avatar_ —has imparted upon her. A million questions race through her mind. She desperately wants to stay here, on this breezy mountaintop with a beautiful sunrise illuminating her features, and drink tea with this impossibly wise airbender. All too soon, she feels herself drifting. The sense of weightlessness increases the breeze that guided her tugs her back into the temple. The haziness she’d experienced before only increases, black creeping into the edges like ink in water, until it is all she can see.

Once again, she opens her eyes, blinks, and wakes up. 

**II.**

The light is blinding.

Even from miles away, the prince has to put a hand up to shield his eyes from the beam of white light erupting east of his ship. The pillar climbs into the sky, pulsing with life, before winking out of existence. 

Zuko swallows and clenches his jaw. His fingers curl around the ship’s railing.

In the weeks since arriving at the South Pole, the Fire Nation ship had seen plenty of mysterious lights. It is no secret the spirits enjoy painting the sky with their lights but he has never seen the Celestial Lights so bright, nor has he ever seen them come from the earth. 

No, this is something _other_.

He narrows his eyes, his heart beating furiously. He can feel his body temperature rising in response to the quickening beat of his heart and he knows steam is beginning to rise off his back. _It’s too damn cold here._

He turns and makes his way to the observation deck, fists clenched with the ever-present scowl on his face making his scar look worse than it actually is.

By the time he makes it to the deck, someone has wisely gone and woken his uncle from his usual mid-morning nap. His uncle is there waiting for him, hands folded into his sleeves.

“Prince Zuko, what has happened?” His uncle’s voice has a note of apprehension about it. He’d seen his nephew get his hopes up too many times, only to be dashed by legends and false believers.

Zuko turns to face the window, searching the skyline where the light had once filled the sky. He unclenches his fist and flexes his fingers slowly, as though grasping for something just out of his reach. It’s a feeling he’s all too familiar with. “I’ve found him, Uncle. The Avatar.”

Iroh steps forward, carefully, so as not to upset his nephew’s delicate temper, as he likes to call it. “Prince Zuko, how can you be sure that it truly is the Avatar? We’ve been down this path before. I hate to see you so disappointed, nephew.”

Zuko rounds on his uncle, his frown deepening. “That light came from an incredibly powerful source. It _has_ to be him.” The old man sighs, but says nothing. Zuko turns on his heel and stalks outside to the spyglass perched on the railing of the observation deck. He puts his good eye to the instrument and scours the horizon for any sign of life.

 _There_.

A smoke stack to the northeast. He follows it down and sees a village of only a handful of huts. He smirks. 

_I’ll have no trouble capturing a young Avatar in a village of peasants._

“Chart a course for the village and prepare a cell below. We’re gaining a new prisoner.”

**III.**

Katara has only been awake for seconds, the scent of mountain air and fruit pies still a phantom taste on her tongue, when Sokka barges into the hut, frantic and out of breath. His eyes are wide and Katara sees something she hasn’t seen in a long time in her brother’s eyes— _fear_. Sharp. Coppery. It’s turned his face young again.

“Katara. Black snow.”

Those three words are all it takes. She understands their weight. In a matter of seconds, she is pulling her parka over her head and lacing up her boots. She races out the door, grabbing her spear as she goes.

Years ago, when she first broached the topic, Sokka had been reluctant to teach Katara what little he knew about battle. _It’s man’s work,_ he’d said, _and you’re a girl._ But if Katara is anything, she’s stubborn and eventually her brother relented after weeks of relentless pestering. He’d taught her how to hold the spear and where to slip the pointy end into a man’s ribs. She is glad for the knowledge now and, if she has to take a guess, so is Sokka. It’s not like her waterbending is going to be of any use. 

When she steps outside, soot is falling in thick clumps and mixing with the soft snow that the incoming storm had brought. 

It’s been years since the last Fire Nation raid. Eight, to be exact. She remembers it all too well, remembers the warrior’s battle cry and the sour taste of soot in her mouth, remembers the voice of a man and her mother’s order— _go find your father, sweetie._

Katara shakes her and banishes the thoughts. She doesn’t have the _time_ to dwell on the last raid. There’s a raid _now_ and she has to protect her people—or what’s left of them, at least. She won’t let the Fire Nation harm her tribe any more than they already have.

When she makes it to the center of the village, everyone is already gathered. Children huddle behind their mothers’ legs, eyes wide with watery fear since most of them have never witnessed a raid like this. Spare pieces of sharpened bone glint in the mother’s hands and she knows without a doubt that they will die before they let these soldiers separate them from their kin. Katara’s heart stutters and her breath catches, staring at the fear that plagues her tribesmen. 

She finds her Gran Gran. She is helping soothe a crying child and, as she looks up, she catches Katara’s eye. Her gaze flicks to the spear in Katara’s hand and she smiles, softly. Katara gives a tight-lipped smile in return and moves to stand at her brother’s side. 

They both take a deep breath and look at each other with a sideways glance. Sokka has hastily donned his war paint, as evidenced by the shaky lines crossing his face. Whether it’s from haste or anxiety, Katara doesn’t ask. They stand shoulder-to-shoulder at the entrance of their little village, their _home_. Sokka’s fingers flex around his boomerang and he grips his jawblade tighter, widening his stance. Katara’s heart quickens as she readies her spear. 

It’s only one ship, which surprises Katara, and, although her memory isn’t the best, she thinks this ship is significantly smaller than those of the past. Her spear lowers a fraction but she rights it immediately. The vessel comes to a stop at the very edge of the ice. A jet of steam releases and the front of the ship releases a gangplank that lowers down into the snow. 

A man flanked by at least ten soldiers descends from the ship. He wears armor similar to the others, but it’s more refined, a little more polished. While the others wear the traditional white faceplate that Katara has come to equate with suffering, the man does not. Instead, he wears a helmet that exposes his face and Katara sees the scar surrounding his left eye. She looks him in the eyes and steels herself for what may come. 

The man comes to a stop about ten feet in front of them and looks between the two. He doesn’t look intimidated in the least but the siblings don’t waiver.

Katara is the first to speak. “What do you want?”

It’s not a question. It’s a demand and there’s an unspoken message in the ice of her voice. _We are not so easily intimidated by your iron ship and your iron suits. The winter winds are much crueler._

The man scowls at her but ignores her. Instead, he turns to face Sokka directly and speaks with a voice much younger than she expects. “Give me the Avatar and no one needs to get hurt.”

The surprise is evident on both of their faces. This isn’t what they were expecting. Katara’s pulse leaps in fear but then she realizes—if he had ignored her, he must not know that _she_ is the Avatar. She glances sideways at Sokka but his focus is solely on the man before them. 

Frustrated with the lack of an answer, the man growls, sparks flying from both his mouth and his fists. He steps closer to Sokka, nose-to-nose with the warrior.

“Tell me where he is, peasant,” he growls yet Sokka still does not flinch. The firebender sets his palm alight and holds it near her brother’s face as a threat.

Katara steps closer to her brother, pointing her spear directly at the man’s throat and giving him the fiercest glare she can muster, despite her own fear. He looks at her— _finally_ —and cocks his head ever so slightly. Then he moves the flame from Sokka’s face to her own and she can feel the heat licking at her cheek. On instinct, she raises her hand to swat his hand away. Quick as lightning, his other hand comes up and curls around her wrist before she can even touch him. She feels his hand growing warmer; it’s not enough to burn but enough to be uncomfortable, even through her tiger-seal skin gloves. She glowers at him, unblinking.

“I’ll ask one more time. Where is the Avatar?” He enunciates each word clearly, the threat lying behind the words clear as day. _Tell me where he is or I’ll burn your village to the ground_. 

He throws Katara’s wrist down to her side and stalks over to one of the tents, signalling his soldiers to do the same with the others. In unison, they all light their hands and begin lowering them to the animal-hide tents.

“Wait!” she cries out, and she scrambles for something, _anything_ , she can tell the man to keep him from destroying her home. 

The man smirks and Katara avoids the temptation to roll her eyes. She steps forward and lowers her spear. 

“He’s not here. He left. Just before you arrived.”

The man lowers his hand and extinguishes his flame. He walks toward her, slowly, and comes to a stop only a few paces in front of her. “And just how do you know the Avatar, little girl?”

She bristles at the comment, but her eyes shift towards Gran Gran who is holding a small, shaking child to her chest. The child is hiding her head in the thick fur of Gran Gran’s parka, her fingers white with the severity of her grip. Katara knows the little girl. She’s practically raised her. She has patched her skinned knees and made her soup when she’s sick, wiped away tears and coaxed out laughter. She’s done the same for almost every other child in the village. 

It’s not hard to make her decision. 

“Because I’m the one who was training him,” she says, still looking at the girl in Gran Gran’s arms. 

The man makes a small noise in the back of his throat and that’s when she slices her gaze back to him. Her mouth tightens and her grip constricts around the shaft of her spear. Anger boils in her, hot and slick. 

The shock is clear on the man’s face. His good eye widens significantly and his eyebrow disappears into the line of his helmet. She tries not to read too deeply into this but she enjoys the feeling of power that his surprise gives him. She vaguely registers Sokka’s noise of alarm but does not react. She _can’t_ react. 

His brow quickly furrows again and he takes a step closer. “The last time I checked, there were no waterbenders left in the South Pole.”

Katara puffs her chest and stamps her spear into the snow. “Well, you were mistaken.” No reply. “Nanouk is gone so you have no business here. We have nothing for you so it would do you well to leave.” She is surprised at how well she is managing to lie. The name, Nanouk, popped into her head from a vague memory; she thinks it was the name of an old man who died a few years back. 

She’s pulled out of her thoughts as the firebender takes more steps toward her, an interesting new glint in his eye. 

“The Avatar may not be here, but his master is.” He begins circling her, the way a polar leopard surrounds its prey just before striking. Icy waves form in Katara’s gut. “You could be just as useful to me. The _last waterbender of the Southern Tribe_ and the Avatar’s master. You may be just what I need to gather the information I need.”

She stiffens. He wants to take her prisoner and he still doesn’t know she’s the Avatar. If she goes with him, he has what he wants—but he doesn’t know that. She can lead him astray from whatever his sadistic goal is. She just has to be extremely careful in the process. 

She surveys the village and the firebenders still stationed at each tent, ready to destroy it at a moment’s notice. As she’s scanning, she makes eye contact with Sokka, who has gone to stand in front of the rest of the tribe. His expression is clear—he is terrified for his sister. As though he can see the exact plan formulating in her mind, his mouth hardens further and he shakes his head a fraction of an inch. He looks like their father. But she knows what that look means. _Don’t do this, Katara. Don’t be a martyr._

Her eyes flick back to the firebenders, and then to the man in front of her. “If I go with you, will you leave my village alone?”

“Katara, no!” Sokka says, before the man even has a chance to respond. He’s rushed to her and stands protectively in between her and the offending firebender, holding his jawblade up. The man leading them looks unphased. His smile is smug and satisfied, the look a man gets when he knows he’s won.

She lays a hand on his shoulder. He turns and looks at her pleadingly. “Katara, you can’t.” His voice cracks.

She knows. She knows Sokka has already lost their mother and that their father is off fighting in the war. If she goes, he’ll be alone. She doesn't want to leave him, not in the slightest, but Sokka alone is better than Sokka dead. 

“Sokka, I have to. If it means protecting the tribe, it’s my duty. While Dad’s away, we’re in charge. It’s up to us to protect the village and if that means going away with them, then I have to.” Tears fill her eyes as she stares up at her older brother and wonders when they both grew up beyond their years. She looks over Sokka’s shoulder at the man watching them with an emotionless expression. “You promise you won’t hurt them?” He gives a curt nod. “I’ll do it, then.”

Sokka turns and this time it is he who gets nose-to-nose with the man. He holds the jawblade up and puts the point directly under the man’s chin. The other soldiers start and position themselves, ready to aim and fire. But the man places a hand up. _Stand down_. 

“You won’t get away with this,” he says quietly and his eyes turn to steel. “I will come for my sister. I will follow her to the ends of this earth, you son of a bitch. And if I find that you’ve hurt Katara, that even a single hair on her head is harmed, I will hurt you in ways that you cannot begin to imagine.”

With that, he steps back. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows a wad of emotion. He turns back to Katara with tears brimming in his eyes. He pulls Katara into a fierce hug that feels like it’s going to crush her ribs. She doesn’t mind. As he pulls back, he grasps her forearm in the traditional Water Tribe fashion. Her heart swells. This gesture is reserved only for warriors. 

Sokka says nothing, but his eyes tell her everything she needs to know. _Don’t let him find out, Katara._ She swallows and forces down the thickness suddenly encompassing her throat. 

He steps out of the way and the firebender steps forward and grabs her upper arm. Katara immediately wrenches it out of his grasp. “I’m going with you willingly. There’s no reason to manhandle me,” she snarls.

He falters, somehow still surprised at her attitude. 

As she turns to face what’s left of her tribe, she recalls Aang’s words to her. _You were chosen for a reason_. Tears fill her eyes for what feels like the millionth time. “I...I love you all. This isn’t good-bye.”

And because she can’t bear to say anymore, she turns away from her home and makes her way onto Fire Nation ship, the icy waves in her stomach churning. Each step feels heavier than the last.

As she hears the Fire Nation soldiers following in line behind her, she can’t help but pray.

_Please, just keep them safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hello it's me your co-author lxlypotter! i hope you liked this chapter, witchless is gonna be at the helm of the next one so be looking forward to that!  
> thank you for reading and as always, comments and kudos always appreciated:
> 
> ———
> 
> NEXT — the iron ship


	3. the iron ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> various links for y'all to check out if u feel so inclined:
> 
> [ playlist for no star is lost](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4TTEKYAC93bUQTmx7REajS?si=Onb8A-dJSPy-01luceEFdg)
> 
> [ pinterest board for no star is lost](https://pin.it/uwbjllamvr32b6)
> 
> [ witchless's twitter account](https://twitter.com/witchless_https://twitter.com/witchless_)
> 
> [ lxlypotter's twitter account](https://twitter.com/avatarhannah)

**I.**

They take Katara to a cell deep within the belly of the ship but it’s not the dungeon of doom and gloom and depravity that she expected. 

It looks more like a bedroom than a cell, although closer inspection reveals that the space is obviously meant to contain unwilling participants. The door locks from the outside and the furniture—a narrow metal bed, desk, and chair—is bolted to the floor. 

Katara sits on the edge of her new bed and scowls at her hands. Though she’d gone with the Fire Nation soldiers willingly, they’d chained her wrists and ankles once on the ship and on their way away from the village. 

“So you don’t get any ideas about escape, _Master_ ,” the scarred man said as he dangled a pair of cuffs in front of her face. Sarcasm dripped from every word that left his mouth, each more arrogant and condescending than the last and Katara saw red. It’d taken all of her strength not to bare her teeth and spit up into his face.

Instead, she’d only stared up at him with a look she hoped was as menacing as she thought it was and offered up her wrists wordlessly. _Do your worst._

If she thinks about it, it makes sense that they’d chained her once she was on their ship and the immediate motivator of her people’s safety was gone. They think she is a master of her craft and they are in the middle of an ocean, surrounded by miles and miles of water that, if she were actually trained, she’d have no issue weaponizing in seconds.

The chains, though heavy, don’t hurt. They just ensure she doesn’t have enough space to slide into a bending form and cause trouble.

From the Fire Nation man’s perspective, they are a wise precaution. From Katara’s perspective, however, they are a _completely unnecessary_ thorn in her side because, even if her hands _were_ free, she can’t bend her own hair free of water, much less command an entire ocean.

Katara scoots herself back onto the bed and curls onto her side. She clings to the anger and disdain that boils in her gut because she knows if she lets go the sadness will creep in. She counts the things she hates about the ship and its crew and the scarred man who leads them. She hates how dry the ship is. She hates the way the pipes in the walls groan. She hates the way the crew members all smell like smoke and ash and metal. Mostly, she hates the way the scarred man has ripped her from her people, her culture, her _home_.

As she lays on her side, her back to the door, she squeezes her eyes shut as something overwhelming and soul-wrenching washes over her. Against her will, a few stray tears leak from the corners of her closed eyes. A memory of Sokka—of how warm and strong his final hug was—flashes through her mind and her chains rattle as she brings her knuckles to her mouth to stifle the sound of her sobs. 

Katara isn’t sure when she falls asleep but she does. It is a fitful dose that’s interrupted by every pair of footsteps that pass by her door. She jolts to a state of semi-consciousness, the entire line of her body tense with fear; only when the footsteps fade away, following their owner to a different part of the ship, does she barely relax and fall back asleep.

Sometime later, though, a pair of footsteps comes to her door but they do not fade. A knock rings at her door and Katara sits up in her bed so fast that black dots fleck her vision for a moment. She curls herself into the corner of her cot, her back pressed against the steel walls, and stares at the door, her heartbeat pounding in her throat.

(There are stories about what Fire Nation men do to Water Tribe women. She promises herself she won’t make it easy for them.)

When the door doesn’t open and a minute ticks by, whoever stands at her door knocks a second time.

Katara still stares at the door but her wariness is quickly being replaced with curiosity. Why knock on your prisoner’s door?

“Hello?” says Katara, hesitantly. The quality of her voice is hoarse from her time spent crying. 

The door creaks open and an elderly man peeks his head inside. He’s got a kind face with two bushy white eyebrows and a triangular beard. 

“Ah, hello. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

Katara swallows. “It’s… okay,” she offers, though it’s mostly because she’s not sure what else there is to say.

The old man hovers in the doorway. “Is it alright if I come inside?”

“It’s your ship.” Katara shrugs. “You may do as you please.”

The man laughs lightly, his belly moving with the effort. “I like you,” he says, though he remains in the doorway. “My name is Iroh. I apologize on my nephew’s behalf. It seems that I have done a poor job teaching him the proper ways a host should treat their guest.”

Katara’s eyes bulge and she bites her tongue to hold back a mindless comment. “You mean… the man with the scar… he is your nephew?” She wonders how such a seemingly-kind old man could share blood with his brute of a nephew.

A shadow passes over Iroh’s face but the smile remains. “Yes. He is. Like I said—his manners can be a little rough around the edges.

This time, the retort makes its way from her mouth before she can stop it. “They’re a little more than rough around the edges.” She shakes her wrists for effect and lifts her nose into the air. “There’s no need to sugar coat it. I’m a prisoner here. And if you are here to coax information out of me about the Avatar, you’re going to have to try a little harder. Sweet words mean little to my people.”

“I meant no disrespect…” Iroh trails off, prompting for her name. Might as well give it since she knows his nephew heard her brother call her by her real name.

“Katara,” she says, pauses. Then for good measure, she adds, “ _Master_ Katara.”

Iroh smiles, a soft thing that feathers the skin around his gold eyes. “Well, Master Katara, I meant no disrespect, truly. You may be my nephew’s prisoner but I will treat you as my guest. As such, I came here to ask if you would like to join us for the evening meal. I know you’ve had a long day and there are few things in this world that a hot supper and a good cup of tea can’t make a little more bearable.”

Katara shifts, suddenly too warm in the parka she still wears. Iroh has _no idea_ what kind of day it’s been for her. First, she’d fallen under the ice and gotten trapped, leading her to the Avatar State for the first time. Then, the Fire Nation ship had come to her village and she’d been forced to lie in order to keep her village and her own, new-found identity safe. Now, she is a prisoner and she has no idea where they will take her or what Iroh’s nephew will do to her in order to glean information about Nanouk—the false, very made-up Avatar—from her. 

_All within a day’s work._

Her stomach makes up her mind for her and stops any further debate. When it growls, loud enough that Iroh raises one bushy eyebrow, Katara sighs.

“Dinner and a cup of tea wouldn’t be bad right now,” she concedes.

Iroh steps aside and waits for Katara to stand up and shuffle her way to the door. When Katara reaches him, she peers into the hall and looks both ways. The corridor is empty and quiet. The strangled cries of anguish and despair she’d expected are nowhere to be heard.

The old man offers her his arm but Katara frowns and lifts her arms. The chains make that metallic noise again. Even if she wanted to touch the stranger, the chains prevent her from even doing so. 

The word _prisoner_ rings through her mind, over and over and over. It’s all she can hear. 

“Right,” he says. “We’ll see what we can do about that over dinner. My nephew is always a little more pliable after he’s gotten some spicy noodles in his belly.”

Katara hums in response—then stops in her tracks.

“Your nephew?” she says, panicky and sharp. A memory of those sharp eyes, dragon-like and unyielding, comes to the surface. Her jaw tightens. 

“Oh, yes.” Iroh frowns to himself, like he’s remembering he’s just forgotten something small and minor. Katara swallows the urge to scream. “I dine with my nephew. You’ll be joining the both of us, if that’s still alright.”

Katara stops. She wants to say, _No. Take me back to my room. Let me starve._

She would if she were a stronger woman. But her stomach gurgles again, twisting painfully within her body, and she reasons with herself.

_You’re a chief’s daughter and, as far as they know, you’re a master and you’ve trained an Avatar. He should be scared of you. Not the other way around._

Katara straightens her posture. “Of course,” she says. “Take me to him, then.

**II.**

If the look on the scarred man’s face is any indicator, Iroh’s dinner invitation was not something they discussed before her arrival.

“Prince Zuko, I hope you don’t mind. I invited Master Katara to dine with us.”

Zuko—she rolls the name around in her mouth; she finds its the kind of name she could easily curse—scowls. The scar on his face, a burst of mottled skin, stretches and pulls as his eyes narrow and his mouth purses.

“Uncle, we are _not_ going to dine with a prisoner.”

Katara sniffles and clenches her jaw. Zuko’s yellow gaze flickers to her, then moves to his uncle. He sits there, legs folded underneath him as he sits at a what she assumes to be a traditional Fire Nation dining table, and meets his uncle’s stare head-on. A quiet moment passes, then two. Katara shuffles her feet as the two communicate wordlessly.

Finally, Zuko’s upper lip curls and a soft hiss of breath worms its way through his clenched teeth.

“Fine,” he relents and Iroh smiles. He looks like a cat-owl who's just caught its prey. “But on one condition—if I allow her to eat at our table, she tells me what she knows about the Avatar.”

“I’ll tell you if you take these chains off.”

“You’re in no position to be making demands, peasant.”

Katara shrugs. “Well, I am. I’ve gone longer without food. Take the chains off and maybe we can have a civil conversation. If I really wanted to, these chains wouldn’t stop me from bending.”

The prince snorts, doubting her ability to bend water within the confines of the cuffs, but Katara isn’t lying. It just might not be water she bends. Then she considers that the chains would be nothing against the Avatar State if she were to enter it. This knowledge doesn’t make her feel any better.

Zuko’s hands press into his thighs and he observes her for a moment, his good eyebrow slowly raising as he realizes she isn’t joking and she isn’t going to budge. 

Iroh keeps his mouth shut, but Katara swears she can feel his hidden smile. _Kooky old man,_ she thinks. 

A muscle in Zuko’s jaw jumps. The room’s temperature rises several degrees. “Only for the meal. Then they’re back on.”

Katara waits for a beat. “Fine.”

“You’re becoming a fine diplomat, nephew. I’m glad you’ve learned that threats only take a man so far.”

She lets out a huff of air. _Diplomacy my ass._

Iroh retrieves a set of keys from within the folds of his robes and unlocks the iron from Katara’s wrists. The waterbender rubs at the skin that had begun to look red and angry and takes the opportunity to finally pull off her heavy parka. Between the heavy fabric of her coat and the room’s temperature spike—she has Zuko’s bending to thank for that—her skin feels sticky with sweat even when she’s left standing in just her day clothes. A shiver shakes up her spine and she resists the urge to scowl when she feels the Fire Nation men’s gaze on her—like she’s some wild animal to observe.

Katara folds herself down on one side of the small, square table. Prince Zuko sits directly across from her, his expression severe and the planes of his face pulled taught by his strange ponytail. 

“So,” she says, “what’s for dinner? I’m absolutely starving.” She props her head up with her chin and eyes the covered plates sat out on the table. It won’t be like the food from home, but it’ll be something.

Zuko visibly bites the inside of his cheek. “Rice,” he grinds out. “And meat.”

“Nephew,” Iroh says, his voice low with warning. 

Zuko ignores his uncle and pins Katara with his yellow gaze. Iroh sighs and reaches forward to uncover the plates and begins to fill several dishes with the food provided. Against her will, Katara’s mouth begins to water at the scents wafting through the room.

It doesn’t take him long to get to his point. “Tell me what you know about the Avatar,” Zuko says, one fist clenched and planted firmly on the table’s surface.

Katara meets his stare and blinks lazily, her mouth pinched. She doesn’t respond. Instead, she waits for Iroh to finish readying her plate. Zuko makes a gruff noise, the beginnings of speech caught in his throat, but Katara cuts him off with a _tsk_ of her tongue. A bead of sweat trickles down her spine as the room temperature rises two more degrees and a candle in the corner flares brightly.

When Iroh finishes serving the plates, she takes the tray and thanks him quietly and only when she finishes her first bite does she begin to think of a response.

“His name is Nanouk. We’re the same age. Talented kid,” she says finally, cogs spinning as she begins to weave a tale. _Might as well commit. My life depends on this lie._

“How much has he mastered? Has he moved on from waterbending?”

Katara shrugs and swallows the giddy urge to laugh as her nerves race through her. “I’ll give you basic details but I’m not going to betray my student to you just because you ask _nicely_.”

Zuko seethes. The candles flare. “You agreed—”

“His favorite color is purple,” she offers and scoops up another bite. She’s not sure what it is that’s been served but the texture is something akin to an arctic hen. “He doesn’t have an animal guide, but he has always been good with the animals we domesticate.” _Lie. Lie lie lie._

A small hiss of air slithers through Zuko’s teeth. Iroh, who is seated directly to Katara’s left, tenses and she hears his robes flutter as he moves his hands. 

“Enough games, waterbender. Tell me what I need to know or face the consequences. We could easily turn back around and annihilate your village.”

Katara’s jaw clenches and her fist tightens around a utensil. No one threatens her family. If she were like Zuko, whose temper so easily affected the world around him, the ocean would roil beneath them and the points of flame in the room would glower with comet-like intensity—but she’s not. Despite being the Avatar, her strength is pathetically weak. Not even her cup of water shakes as her wrath spikes and her maternal streak, which is decidedly one of the strongest aspects of her personality, roars. 

“You won’t turn around or bring any harm to my village because if you do, your _only_ shot at capturing the Avatar goes from slim to non-existent. I told you I would tell you about Nanouk and I am. It’s not _my_ fault the terms of your agreement were vague.”

For a moment, something coils in Katara’s gut, something like shame or fear, and she feels like a petulant child throwing a fit—a cornered animal whose teeth are seconds away from chomping down on its owner’s hand. Katara swallows and when she speaks again, she just sounds tired. 

“My loyalty lies with my tribe, my family.” Katara leans forward, close enough that she can see the small flecks of charcoal in his eyes, small imperfections within a spanse of molten gold. “You can starve me, if you want. Or kill me, like you’ve killed the rest of my kind. But I won’t tell you about the Avatar. Not the things that matter.”

Katara falls back into her cushion and a thousand thoughts race through her head. Perhaps this prince—because that’s what Iroh called him, no? He’s Fire Nation royalty. Cruelty is something that runs through his veins—will take her up on her offer. He’ll lock her away in a room much darker and scarier than the first. He’ll bind her, gag her, torture her until… 

Will she reveal her true identity? If it comes to that? 

She’d told him she never would but there were stories from the men in her tribe about how easy it was for a man to forget his convictions when he was under Fire Nation interrogation. 

Suddenly, she wishes she could swallow her bold words back down. Her fear is nauseating. 

“Uncle,” the scarred man says and his voice is so still, so deceptively calm. 

She can hear the nervousness in the old man’s voice. “Yes, nephew?”

“Take her back to her cell. You—we’ll speak in a few days. You’ve told me what I need to for now.”

Katara feels her own temper, a lazy, indulgent thing that takes what it wants when it wants, snake against her and coil around her bones. _The unfairness of it all._ Ripped from her home. Imprisoned. Given a destiny that she never, ever asked for. 

Tears burn her eyes but she refuses to let them fall. 

Iroh slips those iron chains around her wrists again and offers her parka to her. She pulls it from his grasp with a little more force than necessary and her fingers curl around the material to hide their shaking. 

The trip back to her room is quiet, though she can feel unspoken words hanging between herself and the prince’s uncle.

She thinks that she hates them all. Each and every one of them. 

When Iroh locks her in her room—her cell—he does so without speaking a word. Maybe he knows that anything he’ll say will be met with a sharp retort. Katara can’t tell if she’s happy or sad for the quiet. The lock grinds shut behind him. 

Katara curls back on her bed, her parka tucked under her chin so she can smell the heart-wrenching scent of home, of ice and snow and Gran Gran’s seal-meat stew.

The ship groans around her, whispers and whines a song that sounds so very lonely.

It is only then that the tears which had burned her eyes at dinner fall. 

**III.**

The prince does not sleep that night.

No, his mind is too full of the waterbender girl he’s holding captive. How will he make her speak? How can he get her to tell him where the Avatar is? 

He needs this—he needs _her_ —to tell him about Nanok. He needs her if he’s ever to go home.

The prince shifts onto his side, tossing and turning, and lets loose a heavy breath. His chest aches for a moment as he thinks of home.

(He thinks it’s perfectly acceptable if she hates him the way he sometimes finds himself hating his father or sister and even himself for making him leave home.) 

_Oh Zuzu,_ her voice drips in his mind. _You always were too soft. It’s no wonder father sent you away._

He grits his teeth and shakes his head, banishing his sister’s voice from his thoughts. 

Nothing has ever been given easily to him. He’s always had to work for the things he wants.

The waterbender girl and the knowledge she possesses, he supposes, is no different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello lovelies. i bring to u chapter two of this wonderful fic. lxlypotter and i are hard at work plotting. arc one is finished and we're putting finishing touches on arcs two and three. 
> 
> along with the chapter, i also have a little bit of extra content for u to check out, if you so wish. the links are all at the top of the chapter. i made some edits of katara in the avatar state which u can on the pinterest board, which are pretty freakin' cool. so. check those out.
> 
> ———
> 
> NEXT — the airbender's tale


	4. the airbender's tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw/cw: mentions of torture, panic

**I.**

The prince makes good on his word and Katara doesn’t see him— _or that stupid ponytail_ —for at least a week. During that time, she’s left completely to her own devices and her only companion is the steady chug of the ship’s breathing as it slides through frozen waters. It’s maddeningly quiet. 

(They’re trying to lull her into a false sense of security, she thinks. They’ll trick her and that’s when they’ll come for her.)

It gives her plenty of time to think. 

Naturally, her thoughts wonder to home and whether or not Sokka is able to take care of the village on his own. He’s an excellent hunter but he’s only one man and he’s been left to take care of twenty-three people. There’s no one left to take care of him. And Gran Gran was coming down with a cold just before she left. Is she alright? Has anyone else gotten sick? A few of the children have weaker bodies and it feels like she has to fight tooth and nail to keep them alive in the winters. It’s spring now. But still—are they alright? Are they alive? Are they healthy? Do they miss her now that she’s gone?

Those thoughts make her sick with worry and sadness and so she’s forced to turn her mind to something more sustainable.

The Scarred Prince.

Her mouth twists into a scowl as she thinks of him. Lying on her back with her hands laced over her stomach, the only thing there to face the brunt of her anger is a ceiling littered with bolts and rivets. 

He’s everything she’s been told to hate about the Fire Nation. He’s arrogant and selfish and inconsiderate and stupid and— 

_And he hasn’t hurt you. Not even a scratch._

He should have. His people have tortured and killed the rest of her kind. It’s why she is— _was_ —the last waterbender in the Southern Water Tribe. He thinks she’s a master. An honest, true master who could drown him in five seconds flat.

Teacher of the Avatar be damned, she’s given him no information, no _real_ use. She has tested his patience, questioned his honor. She has proven herself to be a difficult prisoner—she thinks this part rather smugly—but still he hasn’t laid a finger on her. (He hasn’t even set _eyes_ on her since the dinner.)

A part of her wishes he would do something so her hatred could be a little more black and white. There’s too much confusion, too much gray area, for her liking.

Either way, she comes to a decision and it does, in fact, help her sleep at night.

Prince Zuko confuses her. She hates him.

However, she cannot muster up the same feeling of hatred for the prince’s uncle.

The old man visits her two days after the dinner disaster of epic proportions. He brings with him a tray, a brass teapot, and two worn china cups with dragons painted on the white glass.

Katara has half the mind to slam the door shut in Iroh’s face. She hesitates a moment too long, though, and Iroh’s warm smile and kind eyes melt her resolve. She invites him inside her room—a formality, given it’s his nephew’s ship and she’s his prisoner, but it’s one that Iroh abides by strictly. 

“My nephew doesn’t share my passion for tea,” Iroh bemoans as he pours Katara her first cup of tea in nearly two years. It is a jasmine blend, which Iroh claims is his personal favorite, and warmth blooms in her chest against her will. “If you don’t mind, I’d love the regular company. Especially if the company is as beautiful and intelligent as you!”

Then he winks at her and she fights hard to ward off the smile that surfaces because of the old man’s undeniable charm. 

_Clearly, it’s not a hereditary trait,_ she thinks bitterly.

Even though he’s Fire Nation and her gut instinct tells her he can’t be trusted, Katara accepts Iroh’s offer of daily company and he begins to visit her cell at the same time each day. He brings a new tea blend with each visit. Some are sweet. Some are bitter. Others taste earthy or fruity or even slightly spicy. She finds herself drawn to the spiced teas more than any other blend. 

Life at the poles hadn’t allowed for much trade and the teas are an entirely new experience to her palate. The tea she grew up drinking was a plain herbal medley, which they purchased from the nearest Earth Kingdom town in exchange for seal jerky and furs. Even still, those exchanges were rare and the tea was never very good considering all the work it took to get it. 

Katara enjoys her time with Iroh and his tea. Her favorite part of their exchanges, though, are his stories.

The old man has so many and though she’s never allowed to leave the four walls of her iron room, Iroh’s stories take her to amazing places. They make her forget that she’s trapped and headed… _somewhere_ far away from home. 

By the end of her week in near isolation, she’s formed a tenuous—and entirely circumstantial—friendship with Iroh. If she weren’t so lonely, she’d never, ever have spoken to him. (That’s what she tells herself at least. Years of learned fear are not so easily unraveled because he offered her tea.)

After the first dinner, it is apparent Zuko gave an order that she was to dine in her cell. The first meal was bland: plain broth, a piece of bread, and a meager, lukewarm cup of tea. She had scowled as her stomach grumbled in remembrance of that first, delicious dinner, but tucked in anyway because there was no telling when she’d be fed next. But, to her surprise, her meals are delivered regularly with military-like precision in their procedure. The guards do not speak to her, nor does she speak to them but that’s alright. She prefers it this way.

Minutes after her third bland meal is delivered, she hears shouting down the hallway and there is no mistaking the prince’s voice. It’s harsh, unforgiving, and though she can’t quite make out the words there’s no denying that something has set of his temper. Nerves coil in Katara’s stomach. _What if he comes and takes out that temper on you?_ There is also no mistaking the gentle drone of his uncle’s voice that comes after the shouts. The bickering softens until eventually there’s nothing left for Katara to listen to. She struggles to fall asleep that night, too worried that the prince will come and harm her in her sleep. 

The morning after, though, she is perfectly safe, perfectly unharmed, and her routine meal has changed. The broth and bread is replaced with a plate of whatever meat she had eaten that tasted of arctic hen, some rice, fruit slices, and this time a piping hot cup of jasmine tea is served. She smiles to herself as she thought of Iroh. 

The chains had also been removed— _thank La_ —as she had angrily told Iroh during one of their tea visits that there was no point to her being chained if all she was going to do was sit in her cell and stare at the wall. Iroh had laughed, agreed, and brought with him the ring of keys and removed her chains on his next trip.

It is past lunch on the eighth day when she hears footsteps. Not Iroh’s soft ones, no, and there is no tell-tale _clank_ of armor that tells her it is a guard that belongs to those footsteps. Which means—

She doesn’t even have time to finish her thought before the door swings open, the hinges shrieking with the sudden movement. 

The scarred prince stalks in but he doesn’t even have time to open his mouth before Katara scrambles up in her bed, presses herself against the wall, and hisses, “I could have been undressed you know.” 

He at least has the decency to look embarrassed, a red splotch blooming on his good cheek. The embarrassment is quickly replaced with anger and he scowls.

“Why would you have been undressed?”

“Because it’s _so damn hot_ on this ship. How do you people live like this?” She crosses her arms over her chest and looks away from him. 

Instead of answering, he just growls at her and stalks over to the chair sitting at the desk. He sits facing her, staring expectantly. 

A tense moment passes. 

“ _What?_ ” She snaps her head to him.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

His scowl only deepens in response. 

“Yes, scowl at me. Your uncle wasn’t lying when he said your manners were rough around the edges.”

He stands up abruptly and comes to stand two feet in front of her. “Just tell me where he is and this will all be over with.”

Katara fights the urge to roll her eyes and stands up, tilting her chin up to look him in the eyes. “You really are stupid if you think I’m just going to tell you,” she spits.

He takes a step closer to her, fire lighting in his palm. He holds it up by her left eye, not close enough to burn but enough to feel the warmth. She’s close enough that the tips of her toes are pressed up against the curl of his boots. “I have ways of making you talk, _waterbender_.”

She steels her expression the best she can, despite the fear gripping her heart. Her mother’s face flashes through her mind’s eye. “Do your worst, _firebender_.” 

Something unrecognizable flickers in his eyes before his flame falters and then dies. He swallows and takes a few steps back. 

Turning her back to him, she goes to sit back down on her bed. “If you think you’ll get me to talk, you’ll find you’ll be sorely mistaken.” Her voice is quieter, but no less unwavering. 

He, too, sits and the scowl is back on his face. His forearms are placed on his thighs as he stares at her, the look in his molten eyes from mere seconds ago gone without a trace. 

“Then I suppose I’ll be here until you do.”

**II.**

That night, after the prince leaves and takes his glowering stare with him, Katara allows her walls to fall. Her body relaxes. It takes only moments for her to fall asleep.

When her eyes open again, she is not awake but she knows she’s not dreaming either. _The Spirit World._

This time, when her gut tells her where to go, she follows it with little question.

This time, Aang is sitting cross-legged on a cushion on the stone floor of the balcony overlooking the mountain range. Delicate pinks and purples wash over the horizon again as a sunrise announces itself on the horizon. It feels like it has been years since she has seen the sun, when, in truth, it’s only been a little over a week. 

She breathes in the cool mountain air and steps toward Aang. As she gets closer, she notices he is sitting in front of a circular board with red, white, and yellow grid and a large diamond encompassing most of the center squares. Playing tiles are set to either end of the board, each engraved with an image. She sees a rose, a white lily, a wheel, and a lotus, among others. 

Aang clicks a tile into place with his thumb as Katara comes to a stop in front of them, and he looks up at her, that mischievous look still present in his eyes. Katara is unsure of whether or not to bow— _this is her past life, does she bow to herself?_ —and does some clumsy form that doesn’t fit one traditional bow and instead mishmashes several cultures and Aang laughs softly.

“Katara, please, there’s no need to bow to me. We are equals and, I hope, friends.” He grins at her and motions for her to sit. 

Katara folds herself onto the cushion and motions to the peculiar-looking board before her. “What’s this?” The curiosity in her voice is unmistakable. 

Katara loves games. Growing up with Sokka and not really any other children her age had left her to the whims of Sokka’s imagination, resulting in all kinds of insane—but _fun_ —games. She had a penchant for beating Sokka at his own creations, which he of course blamed on the fact that she was cheating, but it made her love of games that much stronger. 

She feels a deep ache in her chest. Did the prince truly keep his word? Are they unharmed?

“This is Pai Sho.” As though he could sense her incoming panic, the airbender’s words interrupt her string of anxieties. “Have you seen it before?” Katara shakes her head. “I brought it in the hopes that you’d want to learn. It’s my favorite game, and I’d love to teach you. It’s really quite simple.”

Katara quickly learns this game is anything but simple. Her head is swimming from all the rules Aang has told her. Words like harmonies, disharmonies, yin and yang, foreign ports, east and west are rattling around her brain and she’s trying to make sense of it all and failing miserably. She can feel the pout gracing her features as she stares at the board, willing all these rules to commit to her memory. Aang’s laugh brings her out of her concentration.

“Katara, please. In truth, I brought you here because I have a story to tell you, not because I want to thoroughly trounce you in Pai Sho. You’ll learn as we play, I promise.” Her shoulders relax and she smiles softly at him, grateful for this space to learn and speak freely. It’s nice to let her guard down after three days of constant defense. 

She places her hands on the board. “So, where do we start?”

“While it is customary for the guest to have the first move, I think it’s probably best that I start our game off.” He takes a tile from his side and places it in a space on his side of the board. Katara takes a few seconds to figure out what to do and, after the confusion is evident on her face, Aang gives her a hint in the right direction.

A few mostly-silent minutes pass, broken only by Aang’s instruction. He places a white lotus tile on the board and says, “As I told you earlier, I brought you here to tell you a story.” She hesitates on putting her next tile down. “I’m going to tell you the story of my life.” 

She looks up at him, and a cloud has descended over the airbender’s features. It’s jarring to see him this way; his usual mischievous glint and grin gone without a trace.

She says nothing, and places her tile down.

“I was only twelve when Sozin’s Comet made its appearance. It came seemingly out of nowhere, as did the Fire Nation. To be truthful, I know very little of the initial attack. The elder monks hid me quickly and began to take me down the mountain to safety. Sozin himself and his guard found us within an inch of us being safe. The elders fought so bravely, but it was not enough...not with the power of the comet on Sozin’s side. I was still very young and very untrained. I’d only just received my air mastery tattoos.”

Aang swallows and Katara balls her fist. The anger she feels toward Zuko wiggles its way to the front of her mind.

“After they killed the men who’d tried to escort me to safety, the firebenders subdued me and I awoke days later on board one of their iron ships. My hands and feet were both chained and I was not granted the same hospitality that you have been granted by Prince Zuko. It was especially hard on the ship. I was never able to get used to the rocking of the ship and so I was in and out of consciousness for the few weeks we were at sea. Sozin visited me a few times, only to ensure that I had not died, not to make pleasantries. 

“By the time we landed on the Fire Nation’s shores, I was thankful just to be alive. I had already pieced together that they weren’t going to kill me; that would only start their search all over again, this time at opposite ends of the world. So they kept me alive. This gave me hope. I thought that… with time, I might be able to escape. That one day I could fulfill my duty as the Avatar and seek out the remainders of my people.”

Katara’s heart twisted in her chest and her eyes pricked.

“I had no training. I was only an airbending master and I certainly had no control over the Avatar State to help my situation. Once they made accomodations for my capture long-term, I was given some reprieve. They removed my chains but they had very little to worry about since my prison was far, far underground and in the most secure location in the Fire Nation. I never saw the capital city. I only ever knew the walls of my small compound. Some of the guards were kind to me and I even managed to make friends with a few of them but it was never a true friendship. There were always unspoken boundaries that neither of us were willing to cross. Despite my relative comfort as a prisoner, I lived my life in solitude. 

“I lived that way through the rest of Sozin’s reign and most of Azulon’s reign. I knew they wanted to kill me in such a way that the Avatar Cycle would be broken and no Avatar would be born after me.

“I, of course, was visited by our past lives, particularly by Avatar Roku. He was the one who told me that if I was killed in the Avatar State, the cycle would be broken. He was the one who told me to wait until it was time. So I followed his instruction and waited. I waited decades for a sign. I didn’t want to kill myself but I knew I was doing no good sitting around while the war waged on around me. 

“My life was stable until its final three years. Azulon was still Fire Lord but he had passed the duty of trying to find a way to end the Avatar onto his youngest son, Ozai. 

“Ozai came to my compound one day in the early fall. He smiled at me but there was only icy coldness in it. He informed me that he had discovered the way to end the Avatar Cycle, the one Avatar Roku had told me of decades before. Ozai said one of his commanders, Zhao, had visited a spirit library and discovered it. As he left, he told me that we would begin the next day.”

 _Ozai_. That was Zuko’s father. Katara’s mouth went sour as she realized that his father had only been a handful of years older when he began the process of ending a man’s life. Evil like that… how deeply did it run?

“For the next three years, they used a variety of methods to try and provoke me into the Avatar State by putting me in various states of endangerment. I won’t burden you with the details, but you should know I fought back. My body fought back. I was still waiting on the sign from my— _our_ —past lives. 

“Finally, one day they nearly succeeded. The word from Roku came as, quite literally, a breath of fresh air. I knew I was on the brink, but I willed myself to exit the Avatar State. And then I was free.

“I watched from far away as my soul finally left my body. Ozai was so pleased. I’d been clever and quick and I realized—he thought he’d won. That he’d killed the Avatar forever. I wasn’t allowed to linger for long, though. I blinked, and then I was in the South Pole, watching your birth. And now, here we are. Playing Pai Sho.”

As Aang finishes, Katara blinks tears from her eyes. There was no use, though. Tears had been steadily streaming down her cheeks since the beginning of his tale. 

He had endured so much, just to ensure that she— _Katara_ , a peasant from the South Pole, as Zuko so often reminded her—would be the next Avatar. 

She can’t say anything. No words could form that would be sufficient enough to be a response. 

“I tell you this not to frighten you, Katara.” It had certainly done that. “I tell you this so you are prepared. Sozin’s Comet will return soon, and I fear Ozai will use its power to do unspeakable things. It is your duty to the world that _you_ end this war, once and for all.”

Aang’s gray eyes bore into her own. His eyes look a thousand lifetimes old, Katara notices. But then, she supposes, hers might too. If they don’t now, they will soon.

Katara tears her gaze away from the monk’s and looks at the board splayed in front of her. Somehow, they had played an entire game during his story. Katara has no memory of laying her tiles down and no idea how she played without interrupting Aang.

Seeing her scrunched up features, Aang laughs and says, “You did terribly, but it didn’t feel right to correct you. Next time, I will take more time to teach you. Pai Sho is a complicated game and I find it can be very enlightening as to what a person’s character is. I look forward to learning what it has to say about yours, Avatar.” 

That mischievous look is back in his eyes and with his message hanging in the air, Katara feels her consciousness in this reality fade and she feels the oppressive heat of the ship press on her as she opens her eyes, back in her cell, which now feels much, much smaller.

She has no idea how long she has been asleep or what time it is but by the lack of movement outside her door and the slight pull of the moon in her belly, most of the ship must still be asleep.

Her mind drifts to her conversation with Aang and she shudders. Aang hadn’t told her the specifics of what they had done to him. He didn’t need to. Katara could imagine well enough.

(It’s occurred to her that some of the fear she feels on the ship is not her own. Sometimes, she wonders if Aang’s experiences haven’t bled into her own.)

She needs off this ship. If Zuko ever discovers that she’s the Avatar and that she’s been lying through her teeth this entire time…

She suppresses another shudder and doesn’t let herself finish the thought. 

Feeling too hot, she sits up and throws the meager blanket off her legs. She’s dressed in only her wrappings and it’s a foreign feeling to her, sleeping with so little covering her body. She was apprehensive her first night on the ship and was determined to sleep in her clothes. She quickly realized that the heat from the ship was too much to be able to sleep in her long tunic and leggings. 

Regardless, she keeps her tunic close by. In case of unexpected visitors. 

While the men on the ship, including Iroh and Zuko, hadn’t laid a finger on her or made any such comment—excluding Iroh’s innocent flattery—she had heard too many stories of what Fire Nation men did to women. 

Her shoulders slump when she realizes that, even if someone did try anything, it’s not like she can defend herself. Even if she was a remotely competent bender, she has no water, and certainly no other weapons to defend herself. She’d have to rely on her physical strength, which, if she’s honest with herself, isn’t exactly as up-to-par as she would like. 

She feels the beginning tendrils of panic begin to creep onto her. 

She has to get off this ship. 

  
  


**III.**

In the days following her visit with Aang, Katara is especially on edge. Not only does her resolve to leave Zuko and his crew behind have her agitated, but Zuko continues to visit her daily and wheedle information on Nanouk out of her. More often than not, they sit in silence and glower at each other. 

On the second day of interrogations, Zuko switches tactics. For starters, he knocks, which surprises Katara. Regardless, she doesn’t answer him and he enters anyway. She’s sitting in the same spot, arms crossed and a scowl that would send Sokka to the furthest ice floe just to get away from her. 

Zuko’s face isn’t twisted into a scowl, which is the second thing that surprises her. While his face still isn’t kind, it’s not frightening. Katara thinks he looks much better this way.

When she says nothing to him upon his arrival, he takes another step towards her. “I need you to understand. The Avatar is crucial for me to regain something I’ve lost. He is the only thing standing in the way of this war ending.”

She says nothing, but her jaw tightens and she curls her hands into fists. He takes another step towards her.

“If you cooperate I’ll make sure nothing happens to you or your village. Just help me find the Avatar and we can end this war.”

Katara is positive flames are leaping from her blue eyes. She snaps. 

“‘End this war’? Having the Avatar in your little Fire Nation clutches won’t do anything to end the war. My tribe, my _family_ , might be safe but you can’t promise that to the whole Earth Kingdom. Or the families that have already been ripped apart, or, I don’t know, _the entire population of airbenders_?” 

He somehow seems surprised at her refusal of help, as though he had expected her to betray everything she’s ever known simply because he promises her _safety_ —as though such a thing even exists anymore. Not with what his family has wreaked for the last century.

He moves to say something, perhaps offer some other ridiculous incentive but Katara cuts him off. “I hope you drown, _prince_.” 

This time, it is his jaw that tightens. Without saying a word, he turns on the heel of his boot and leaves. 

The next day, he is back with his usual temperament. He does not make her another offer. 

Periodically, she feeds him some lie pulled from thin air about Nanouk. She’s mentioned his favorite food (stewed sea prunes), the name of a non-existent sister (Akna), his preferred method of cooking fish (frying over an open flame), and other absolutely useless facts about this fictional Avatar. She even spins a story about how she’s sewed up the holes in the Avatar’s breeches because he struggled to learn phase changing and was always slicing holes in them with ice.

With every mundane fact given, the temperature in the room rises in response to Zuko’s increasing agitation. Katara is sweating profusely and she knows she would feel much better if she were just in her wrappings—she is astounded by everyone’s ability to wear that heavy armor all day—but she would never _undress_ in front of _Zuko_. She may be desperate, but not that desperate. 

It’s the second week of her captivity when the opportunity arises. 

It’s the perfect window for escape.

**IV.**

When the guards bring her meals, they only check to make sure several things return with them. They count both utensils, the wooden dishes, the small china cup and the brass teapot. 

They do not, however, ask where the scraps have gone.

They’ve served arctic hen twice this week and both days a drumstick has been placed on her plate. When they take her tray, the surface wiped clean, they do not think anything of it. Plates are supposed to be clean, especially when you’re a starving prisoner. It does not occur to them that there should be bones on her plate, but she _is_ a savage and savages are known for their strange ways. 

Katara collects the bones in her meals. The leg bones work best for her purposes and she shaves and shapes them against the sharp edge of her iron bed. She’s never been very good at bone carving and the heat from cooking the bones has made them weaker than she’d like but she knows Sokka would be proud of her plan. 

She shapes them into what she hopes is small enough to wiggle its way into her door’s lock. She’s never picked a lot before, never really even seen a lock before her time on the ship, but the knowledge of their mechanics lies somewhere deep in her mind. (A past life, perhaps? She doesn’t linger on it.)

It’s late at night and she’s got her picks tucked under her pillow when the ship settles in for the night. 

They’ve grown comfortable around her over the last two weeks. Though she’s verbally lashed out at their prince, she’d given them very little trouble otherwise. 

When the moon rises and a guard still isn’t positioned outside her door, Katara smiles into her pillow and her fingers wrap around the chicken bones. 

She pulls her tunic and leggings on, trying to be as quiet as she can, and crouches down in front of the door. The lamp has been blown out in the room so she navigates the door by touch. The lock is on the outside of the door, but from what she remembers, the latch keeping the door _locked_ is simple. She could likely get it to press down with a string and use the bones to wiggle it into place.

Katara tugs her tunic up and feels along the hem for a loose piece of thread. When she finds one, she tugs, unravelling the bottom of her shirt, and tears it off with her teeth.

Threading the string into the crack of the door, she uses the fine chicken bones to tug it around and wiggle it into place. She’s not sure how long she spends doing this, but a bead of sweat slides down her spine and she’s sick with nerves. 

She’s about ready to throw her hands up and give up when she feels the string catch. Katara bites down on her bottom lip to quiet the yelp of joy she wants to let loose. 

Tugging, the lock clicks. Katara wraps her hand around the handle and pulls. 

The door swings open.

Katara leans forward on her knees and braces her hands on the ground as she pokes her head into the hall. It’s dark and empty. The torches outside have been allowed to burn out. 

Her knees pop as she pushes herself to her feet, slowly. 

Her heart hammers in her chest as she takes small steps out of her cell. She half expects Zuko to appear out of the shadows, grab her by the wrists and throw her back inside the room.

When he doesn’t, and she hears no sign of any guards, she quickens her pace.

Katara’s knowledge of the ship is limited. She knows where Zuko’s dining quarters are but her memories from when they initially brought her to the ship are hazy at best. 

She makes an educated guess and chooses pathways that are dark and seem like they’re headed upward. Down one hallway, she can hear the raucous laughter of the ship’s crew.

 _Is that where they are? Are they all getting drunk?_ Katara’s face twists. _Is Zuko there? Is he close with his crew?_

Katara doesn’t stay to find out. She slinks down the hall, her back pressed against the cool metal walls. Her hair tickles the nape of her neck and cheeks. She can nearly taste the salt of the sea on her tongue. 

When she climbs that last set of stairs and emerges on the deck, the sight of the night sky leaves her breathless. It feels like years since she’s been allowed to see the moon and the stars and the wind feels so good compared to the hot stale air of her room. 

She pauses at the precipice of the stairs and checks for guards. The deck is clear. They’re all in the mess hall drinking fire whiskey, half sloshed out of their minds if the volume of their laughter is any indication.

Katara takes her first step out onto the deck and relishes in the nip of the sea breeze on her skin. 

She can feel the water all around her, its push and pull and the soft churn of the waves below. Her blood hums with unreleased energy, itching to be used. She can feel every drop of sea spray that lands on her cheek, her arms, her nose.

The deck’s railing is only thirty feet away. Katara’s heart lodges in her throat. If she’s honest, she never thought she’d get this far. She’d broken out of her cell with bones, string, and a little elbow grease and not a single crew member had seen her. Now that she was out, where was she to go? How far could she swim? She has no way to gauge where the nearest port is. Weeks in a cell have left her body fatigued. Sure, she could probably swim for a couple of hours if necessary. But it doesn’t take much more thought to know what would happen if they were days away.

She glides across the deck, her feet sticking to the floor from the humid night air. Katara’s fingers curl around the metal bar. Peering over the edge, she stares in the black water below. While they’ve gone far enough north that there’s no longer ice in the water, she’s sure that it’s still freezing. 

A thought flashes through Katara’s mind, a memory of the world below the ice and how the Avatar State had warmed her blood. She hesitates. She should go back to her room. She should wait until they’re at port to escape. This entire plan—stupid, so stupid. She’s a little girl playing at a game far too complicated. 

_“You!”_ a voice snarls behind her and Katara’s head whips around, even though she already knows who it is. His voice is unmistakable. “Step back from the rail.”

Katara’s fingers curl so tightly that her knuckles go white. He’s standing near the stairwell she just emerged from. It’d take him seconds to reach her.

Now that they’ve seen her—now that _he_ has seen her—she won’t get another chance like this again. It’s now or never. 

Before Zuko can eat up the space between them, Katara swings her legs over the railing and hesitates. The blood in her ears roars. Faintly, she can hear Zuko yelling her name.

Katara pushes forward, and in the split second of weightlessness she swears she feels the ghost of fingertips at her wrist. And then she’s breaking the surface of the water. The cold seizes her body, swallows her whole. Her bones ache and every nerve in her body seizes. When the water closes in over her head, a memory flashes behind her eyes. 

_Not her own._

A familiar face. Gold eyes set in a pale moon face. Not familiar.

There’s no scar. _Fire Lord Ozai._

_How long do you plan on holding out, Avatar Aang? You’ve been here for years. Give up._

Katara thrashes as phantom hands curl around her ankles and wrists and pull her down. There are demons in this sea, demons that hiss in her ear and pull her deeper and deeper. The water around her pulses as her bending reaches out but she’s weak and the force of Aang’s memory is a living, breathing thing.

_Give up, Aang. Give up give up give up._

She’s not sure why these memories have struck now. Why they’ve chosen to torment her when she’s so close to finding freedom—in death or in life. But they have and their teeth are like iron as they sink into her.

Katara claws for the surface. Pain bursts through her and the Fire Lord’s voice rings in her ears. 

_Give up. Give up. Give up, Katara._

**V.**

When Katara comes to, she’s back in her bed on the ship. 

_On the ship_.

She nearly screams in frustration as tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She sits up, putting her face in her shaking hands, and feels cool air hit her back. 

She looks down at herself. She is only in her wrappings. 

Her heart hammers in her chest as she struggles to remember exactly what happened. She feels around on her body, checking for any signs of soreness in certain areas. Her wrappings are exactly how she does them with no signs of anything even being touched. Her pulse settles, but not to a beat of peace. It still means that someone undressed her while she was unconscious. 

It is when she notices that her hair is damp that her memory returns to her.

She’d escaped. Nearly. And then Aang’s memories had overwhelmed her, rendering her will useless, and she’d sunk like dead weight in frigid waters. 

She had failed. What did she expect though? She’s a half-baked waterbender, at best, with no knowledge of where she even is in the world. She almost laughs at herself. Who is she kidding?

Growing up in the South Pole had taught her all kinds of things. She knows that a desperate animal will do anything to survive.

A knock sounds at her door.

When no one comes in when she says nothing, she expects it to be Iroh, who always waits for her to welcome him in the room. When it is Zuko who enters after hearing her permission, she scrambles to cover herself and blushes. It is one thing for Iroh, who is old enough to be her grandfather, to see her this way, but Zuko is a _boy_ who is very close to her age. She doesn’t know how to feel about that. 

He’s carrying a bundle of red in his arms that he hands to her without looking at her directly. “Here. I thought you might want these.” He’s quiet and his brows are pulled together slightly. He doesn’t look angry but something else that Katara can’t quite place.

Instead of standing and taking the bundle from his outstretched hand, Katara stays curled in her blanket and eyes him warily. “Where are my clothes?” Her throat is scratchy and it almost hurts to speak. 

His gaze shifts to look her in the eyes. She must look pathetic; damp, stringy hair, red eyes, and no clothes. He holds her gaze for a few seconds before looking away again.

“You were soaked to the bone. If I’d left you in those, you would’ve gotten hypothermia.” His eyes shift before continuing, as if embarrassed, “Besides, you’re always complaining how hot it is on the ship. I thought you might like something cooler.”

She stares at him, still unmoving. Her brows pull together. She was confused before but this act of...kindness, she supposes, only heightens it. She’s positive he’s only doing this so she’ll eventually cooperate. There’s no genuine kindness in this man—he’s Fire Nation, kindness is not something they value. 

Seeing she isn’t going to move, Zuko places the clothes on the end of her bed and says, “I’ll be back in five minutes. You should get dressed." He leaves without looking at her and shuts the door as quietly as he can behind him. 

She eyes the clothes at the foot of her bed and decides that, while the thought of anything Fire Nation touching her is repulsive, some clothes are better than being half naked on a ship full of soldiers. 

The clothes are too big for her. The pants are too long, the sleeves fall to below her elbows when they should hit just above and she has to wrap the sash around her three times before she feels safe enough that everything won’t fall apart on her. Despite this, she knows that even if these clothes are huge on her, they would be far too small for any soldier on this ship. 

It’s as she comes to this realization that Zuko knocks again and, hearing no protest, he enters. He stops in the doorway and his eyes widen almost imperceptibly, a slight blush gracing his good cheek. 

This look alone confirms her suspicions. 

She crosses her arms and avoids his gaze as she moves to sit on the bed. He follows suit, closing the door and makes his way to his usual spot in the chair at the desk. 

He doesn’t say anything right away. He’s looking away from her and his left leg bounces up and down and...he’s _fidgeting_ ? Katara didn’t think this man— _boy_ , practically—was capable of being anxious. 

“I—” he starts, turning to face her. He’s stopped by deep blue eyes boring into his. She’s not looking at his scar, he notices. She’s looking at _him_. “I didn’t come to interrogate you, if that’s what you’re wondering.” 

She says nothing, so he continues. “The way you panicked in the water, it’s...I understand.” He’s stopped fidgeting and his gaze is unwavering. “You’re terrified of your own element.” His voice is quiet in a tone she never expected to hear from the scarred prince. It’s genuine and...small. 

Still, she challenges, “I’m a master waterbender. Why should I be scared?”

“You tell me.”

He sits forward, forearms resting on his thighs. She notices for the first time that his armor is gone. In its place is a simple sleeveless tunic. He looks smaller, far less intimidating. She also can’t help but notice his bare arms and the muscle he’s acquired from what she is sure is rigorous training.

Zuko’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “Just because you’re a master doesn’t mean that accidents can’t happen. I know what it’s like, trust me.”

Her gaze flickers to the left side of his face and the mottled skin that stretches back to his ear. 

“It was a training accident.” He starts when Katara begins speaking. “I was working with Nanouk one day and he...he broke the ice. I fell in. The current was too quick for me to be able to just climb back out and the cold was too shocking for me to even think about bending myself free. I don’t know how it happened, exactly, but the next thing I knew, I was awake in my brother’s arms.”

“When did this happen?”

“The day before you came to my village.”

Katara is lying, of course, but not entirely. Falling into the ice had been traumatic enough that it triggered the Avatar State and, despite growing up around water her entire life, she isn’t eager to repeat the experience. 

“I’m sorry. A bender shouldn’t be terrified of their own element.”

She looks at him and the expression on his face scares her. It’s almost soft and he looks as young as he is. He looks like he’s Sokka’s age. Her heart twists painfully when she thinks of her brother. 

Zuko isn’t supposed to be like this. He isn’t supposed to listen to her, or comfort her, or bring her _his_ clothes because she’s too warm. He’s not supposed to look at her with this expression, one full of understanding. 

She can’t have anything in common with him. He’s Fire Nation. Her enemy. He’s after _her_ whether he knows it or not and she won’t let her defense down around him.

The conflicting feelings within her boil and continue to do so until they explode. She stands abruptly and takes a step towards him.

“Don’t tell me you’re _sorry_ ,” she snarls, her hands in fists by her side. “You’ve done nothing but keep me prisoner here. I know all you want is to capture the Avatar for whatever sick game you’re playing so don’t come in here and try to get me to feel _sorry_ for you so I’ll give you information. At the end of the day, you’re the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation and all you care about is winning the war. You don’t care about me, so do us both a favor and don’t pretend like you do.”

He says nothing, but the longer she speaks, the tighter his grip on his knees gets. His knuckles are white by the end of her speech but he lets go and stands up, slowly, until he is at his full height above her. 

His golden eyes are shining with rage, that much she can tell, but there is another emotion she is unable to place. Without saying a word, he leaves her, slamming the door behind him.

Zuko does not come visit her the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again folks!!  
> so sorry about the wait for this chapter, life (i.e. fictional characters that ruin my life) got in the way and also this chapter took a lot to write, but hopefully we made up for it in length. it was a legit collaborative effort between witchless and myself to get this chapter done so i hope you all liked it! 
> 
> thanks for reading and comments/kudos are always welcome ;)
> 
> ———
> 
> NEXT — the first port


	5. the first port

**I.**

In the days following her pitiful escape attempt, Zuko makes no effort to show her anything that resembles the flicker of warmth he displayed.

Katara doesn’t mind.

She is glad for it, in fact. 

It took her a long while, that night, to shake off the thoughts plaguing her mind. She had seen a different side of the scarred prince, one that seemed almost like a friend. Someone human and vulnerable and not at all a boy raised to wage war.

She hates it and she hates him. 

The scowling prince quits his daily visits and instead begins to visit her erratically. There is no rhyme or reason to his inquisitions and his mood is far worse. Katara grumbles to herself that  _ he  _ had no right to be so damn pissy; she was the one who’d nearly drowned and she was the one who’d been taken hostage. 

(It’s easier to be angry than to remember that experiences have left her terrified of the ocean, shivering at night, clutching her meager blanket tighter around her shoulders when she jolts from a nightmare.)

Zuko is seemingly done with the long hours of silence and waiting. He’s pushy now, insistent on getting the waterbender to answer his questions, and if it weren’t for his uncle, she thinks he might consider starving her until she broke. 

(That’s a lie. She knows he’d never hurt her now even if his uncle were nowhere to be found. But, lies are easier.)

No matter how much he snarls and growls and hisses at her to answer his question, and no matter how much she wants to forget it, to hate him, she still can’t stop seeing the soft expression on his face when he tried to empathize with her. She remembers how his golden eyes weren’t roaring flames for once but the dying embers of a late-night campfire. His face had looked so  _ young _ and she can’t help the twinge her heart gives when she compares him to Sokka. 

Katara scowls and turns to face the wall as she lays in her bunk. One kind act doesn’t discount a century of bloodshed. 

She doesn’t know how long she dozes, falling in and out of sleep, before a soft knock sounds on her door. She hears the gentle drone on the other side and she re-ties the sash around her waist to close the too-large tunic the prince gave her before muttering a soft, “Come in.”

A guard opens the door for Iroh, who carries the tray of tea laden with cups, a pot, and a few small bowls that contain their lunch. The smell of komodo-chicken, a slightly spicy broth, and bowls of fresh steamed rice waft under Katara’s nose and she can’t help her mouth from watering. 

A pair of guards follow Iroh, bringing in the low table where they have their daily tea. Katara folds her legs under her and sits across from the smiling old man as he places their goodies on the table. She leans forward, placing her hands on her knees for balance, to try and gauge the new type of tea he has brought for them today. 

She digs in to the food before her, refraining from letting out a satisfied moan for the sake of whatever dignity she has left. It is so warm and she is  _ so _ cold.

Earlier, she’d woken up freezing, a small layer of frost coating the lower half of her face and her chest as though she had been blowing ice from her nose while she slept. It’s not the first time it’s happened, although it is the first time it’s happened on the ship. And while it’d never worried her before, any sign of lack of control is practically asking her to sign her death wish and she can’t afford to slip up. 

Iroh looks at her with a playful glint in his eyes, and Katara slows down, remembering that she  _ is  _ in the presence of royalty, no matter how unlike his family he is. 

He offers to pour her tea and Katara readily accepts, blowing on it before guzzling it down like she wants to. Although she’s nowhere near close to starving or dying of thirst, her access to liquid is deeply limited. And while she’s not a master and less sensitive to dehydration than top tier waterbenders usually are, the absence still affects her more than she’d like it to. She’s not going to turn down hydrating for anything. Plus, the ship still believes she’s a master waterbender which means there are pretenses to uphold. She has no plans to reveal anything true about herself to them—if she can help it. 

The tea is bright and citrus-y, and warms her from the inside out. She likes it and, although it is not her favorite, it is still near the top of the list.

Iroh takes a sip, then clears his throat. “How are you faring, Master Katara?”

No matter how many times Katara has insisted he call her only Katara, he refuses. He seems to believe it is just because she is humble. Katara, however, feels guilty every time she is called  _ master _ . Iroh is from the Fire Nation but Katara trusts him, somehow. She doesn’t feel right deceiving the old man who has shown her so much kindness. But she has to, for her survival, so she swallows down the guilt.

She gives the old general a soft smile and raises her chin. “Well, apart from your nephew grating on my last nerve, I suppose I’m doing as well as I can be.”

Iroh sets down his tea cup and sighs. Katara almost feels bad for insulting his nephew. Almost. 

In her defense, he threw a tantrum in front of her yesterday. She was feeling particularly obnoxious and spent the entire three hours he was in her room needling him endlessly, answering questions with more questions, and generally enjoying getting under his skin.

It was the most fun she’d had in weeks.

Zuko, however, did not seem to have had fun. He looked as though he wanted to leave a Katara-shaped pile of ashes on the floor but instead, let out a stream of fire from his mouth aimed toward the ceiling, followed by what can best be described as a roar, and promptly stomped out. He made no effort to quietly close her door, either. 

As much as she respects the general, it is more fun to rile his short-tempered nephew. 

“As much as I agree with you that my nephew has been more...irritable as of late, I must say he has his reasons.” Iroh meets Katara’s gaze and holds it. Her gut twists as she feels Aang’s presence flicker in the back of her mind. For a moment, she can feel him peering out of her eyes—just long enough to examine Iroh’s expression—before he winks out and it’s once again just her in her body. 

Then, something scratches at Katara’s memory, something that had been itching at her for days.

_ I know what it’s like, trust me. _

_ A bender shouldn’t be scared of their own element. _

Katara sets her tea cup down with a barely perceptible  _ clink _ . “General Iroh, may I ask you something?”

Iroh sets his cup down as well and folds his hands into his sleeves, an invitation for the waterbender to continue.

“The other night, after...well, after I fell in the water, Prince Zuko came to visit me. He said that he knows what it’s like to be scared of your own element.” Iroh stiffens and Katara looks away from him, frowning. “What did he mean by that?”

Several long moments pass with their breath and the gentle creaking of the ship being the only sounds. 

“Prince Zuko has been through a...great deal for such a young man. Much of which a fully grown man, let alone an eighteen-year-old, could not handle. It has shaped him into who he is now but more importantly, who he  _ will  _ be.”

Katara’s gaze is on the old man in front of her, but his is cast down on the traditional Fire Nation table in front of them. 

“Whatever your intentions may be, Master Katara, it is not my story to tell.” His usual cheerful demeanor is gone and Katara nearly shudders with the weight of his implication.

“Well, then I suppose that means I’ll never find out.” She shrugs her shoulders and gives the general a small smile. It’s a feeble attempt at a joke but when she looks at Iroh, he is smiling at her with what can only be described as a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

Iroh raises his cup to his lips and says, “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Master Katara.”

Katara opens her mouth and takes a breath to ask just what  _ exactly  _ he means by that, but he cuts her off. 

“Tomorrow, we are stopping at a lovely Earth Kingdom port. We’re stopping to refuel and refresh some of the supplies…”

Katara doesn’t hear the rest. 

Port. 

_ Land.  _

Her mind starts racing with possibilities, all the ways she could escape. 

If everyone is off the boat— _ wait, surely they won’t leave the ship  _ totally  _ empty, I’ll have to account for that _ —she can run, run far inland and never look back at the scarred prince and his uncle or that suffocating ship  _ ever again _ . 

She’s running through everything in her head, every problem she may encounter, she does not notice the general has stopped speaking and is looking at her expectantly.

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked if you were looking forward to it.”

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

Iroh chuckles. “Are you looking forward to going ashore with us tomorrow?” Katara is struck silent. “I have no intention of letting my nephew leave you on this boat tomorrow when you could enjoy the sights with us! A young lady needs fresh air and sunshine and to stretch her legs, especially after being at sea for so long.”

“I’m...you’re letting me off the ship?”

“Yes, of course! It would be rude to leave you here while the rest of us have a break from this ship.” Katara nods, slowly. “I can see you are tired, and as we’ve run out of both tea and food, I will leave you be. Someone will be by to retrieve you in the morning once we are docked.”

They stand and Iroh folds his hands back into his long sleeves. He gives her a shallow bow, one reserved for familiar faces, and she returns with a traditional Water Tribe bow of her own.

“Have a good evening, Master Katara.” The guards gather up the plates and cups and two more come in to carry the table after Iroh. 

They close the door and she is alone again.

She unfastens the tunic around her middle and lays back on the bed, grateful for the air hitting her abdomen now. It didn’t matter that the clothes Prince Zuko gave her were lighter—she still feels like she’s being suffocated.

Her thoughts are swimming. She can’t understand why Prince Zuko would willingly let her off the ship. From the way Iroh was speaking, it sounds as though he has already convinced the prince to let her come with them. Will she roam free around town? Will she be paraded around in shackles? 

Her lip curls in disgust at being shackled behind the Fire Nation.

_ The Fire Prince, no less _ , she thinks bitterly. 

Her mind wanders to escape once more. She thinks that without the barrier of actually being on the ship in place, it’ll be much easier to escape. 

_ But, if they’re expecting to see me in town, it’ll be harder to avoid them. They’ll be watching me. If they didn’t know I was there I could manage to sneak by them.  _

Her breath catches in her throat. She can’t escape.

Not for lack of effort, no.

If Zuko finds her missing, she knows he thinks she’s stupid enough to turn around and go straight back home. He’ll go straight to her home and burn it to the ground.

It’s enough to make her throat feel thick and she pushes plans of escape away. 

**II.**

Katara isn’t quite sure what General Iroh meant by “sights” but she’s fairly sure this isn’t it.

The Earth Kingdom port they dock in isn’t much more than a few ramshackle buildings, a lot of dirt, and even more shady-looking individuals.

The only land Katara has ever seen is covered in snow and even she knows this place is not a vacation destination.

She’s donned her freshly-washed Water Tribe tunic and leggings, mostly as a way to show off that she does not  _ belong  _ here, that she is not here of her own free will. She deeply regrets that choice now. She’d heard whispers back home of how coveted Water Tribe women are for their “exotic” features and this is all proven true as men who reek of fish and alcohol leer at her, looking her up and down. Their eyes often snag at the top of the slit of her tunic.

Katara, for once, is glad to be in the presence of the Prince and his uncle, because as much as they are the enemy, they have barely touched her, with the exception of Zuko hauling her out of the water and getting her out of her sopping clothes.

As innocent as the gesture had been, her cheeks burn every time she recalls that night. Because even if it was the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, a  _ boy  _ had removed her clothes, enemy or not. 

Speaking of the Crown Prince, his irritation is nearly stifling. He is walking next to Katara and she can feel his heat across the three feet between them. He’s grown increasingly agitated every time another man made a comment or gesture aimed at Katara, and they are up to four now. 

She is in no mood to address this though, nor does she necessarily care how the prince is feeling. Their conversation before coming ashore is still plenty fresh in her memory.

True to Iroh’s word, she was retrieved relatively soon after she’d woken up and dressed. The guards outside her door led her to the deck of the ship, no shackles in sight. 

It took her a long time for her to open her eyes. She hadn’t seen sunlight in  _ weeks  _ and with the reflection of light off the waves, it nearly blinded her.

When she’d opened her eyes, Zuko was standing in front of her, armor-clad and serious as ever. 

“Good morning,  _ prince _ ,” she’d said, as much venom as she could muster dripping from her words.

He didn’t acknowledge her icy tone or her less-than-kind greeting. He stalked closer to her, merely a foot between them, and said, “Despite my uncle’s intentions, I am not letting you off this ship out of the kindness of my own heart.” Katara scoffed but he was unfazed. “You are far, far too dangerous to leave on this ship.”

He circled her, coming to her back. He was still a foot away but she could feel his heat at her back. “You’ve already attempted to escape once. If you try again, I will not be as lenient. You are to stay in my sight until we reach this ship again at dusk. Do you understand?”

Katara rolled her eyes and muttered a very sarcastic, “Yes,  _ sir _ .”

He appeared to her front again, his golden eyes sparking. “What was that?”

She leaned in close and plastered a smile that dripped with malice to her face. “Understood.”

While she had been grateful for the chance to leave the ship, even if there is no chance of escape, she is now itching to get back to her room, away from the eyes of these men. 

They spend the day mostly following Iroh around as he feels the need to peruse every shop and purchase every trinket dangled in front of him, much to Zuko’s annoyance.

Katara and Zuko are standing at the back of a store while Iroh butters up the pretty shopkeeper near his age. She is blushing and lets out a giggle every now and then. Katara sees Zuko repress the urge to gag.

“Is he always like this?” Katara mutters to Zuko from the corner of her mouth.

She doesn’t miss the surprised look he throws her way. Her demeanor is completely different from this morning—despite being stared at all day, she can’t shake the sense of freedom she feels walking around this ramshackle town by the sea. She can almost forget she’s a prisoner living a lie, even with the scowling prince next to her.

Zuko sighs, irritated. “Yes. This happens every time we stop, no matter how much I tell him that we don’t have the funds for this.”

“I mostly meant the flirting but it’s really comforting knowing your uncle might make us run out of food.”

His hand reaches up to the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, Uncle knows how to get what he wants.”

Katara whirls to look at him, utter disbelief on her face. “Ew! What? He ‘ _ knows how to get what he wants _ ’? He’s my grandfather’s age!”

Zuko flushes a deep red. “No, no, that’s not what I meant! I just meant that Uncle has a way with women and he knows how to talk them into—” Katara is looking back and forth between him and the general, looking thoroughly horrified. Zuko lets out a huff and crosses his arms. “Just forget it.”

Nearly fifteen minutes later, they trudge out of the shop, soldiers following in tow with the armfuls of shiny trinkets that Katara is sure is worth more than her entire village. 

Zuko’s earlier bubbling anger from before is nothing more than simmering irritation now. “Uncle, we do not have the money for all this useless junk.”

Iroh looks as though he has been insulted directly. “‘ _ Useless junk _ ’? Prince Zuko, these are treasures! Treasures I procured at a very reasonable price from a very beautiful woman.” Zuko groans and pinches the bridge of his nose.

A voice that sends chills down Katara’s spine interrupts them. “I think your woman is enough of a treasure as is, if you know what I mean.”

Katara’s braid whips around so fast it nearly hits her in the face as she turns to find the voice confident enough to so blatantly degrade her.

An older man, somewhere near her father’s age, is leaning against the stone wall of a run-down tavern and inn. The porch overhang is casting a deep shadow over his face, but even she can see that he is covered in dirt, his hair unkempt and greasy. He smirks at her and  _ winks _ . 

She recoils and her cheeks flush in embarrassment. She wants to spit in his face. Next to her, Zuko growls and moves in between her and the man. 

The man continues to smile. “Aw, c’mon, I’m just having some fun!” He pushes off the wall as though to walk toward them. Zuko grabs Katara’s wrist and pulls her fully behind him. He does not let go of her. 

“Get back to the hole you crawled out of, peasant,” Zuko snarls at the man. “Before I burn the skin off your feet and leave you crippled in the dust.” A guard shoves the man back and they continue on their way back to the ship. Katara’s wrist is still in Zuko’s grip.

Katara clears her throat, but he doesn’t hear her. She can feel him fuming and she doesn’t blame him. If she’d been better trained, she might’ve wiped the floor with his sleazy grin. 

“Prince Zuko.” It is his uncle’s voice that brings Zuko out of his thoughts. “Perhaps it is best if you let go of Master Katara.”

His attention snaps to his hand around her wrist and he lets her go as though she were burning. His face is flushed and he looks everywhere but her. “Right. Of course. Sorry.” 

They make it back to the ship without another word, their near-carefree attitude from earlier gone without a trace. The guards lead her back to her room, where she immediately strips to her bindings and crawls into bed. 

She does not wear her Water Tribe clothing for a long time after that. 

**III.**

It is a few days later that they stop at another port. Zuko has given up questioning the waterbender and is instead ordering his crew to ask around town if they see anyone who fits her description of the Avatar.

He ensures that the next port is one of higher calibre. 

Uncle had yet to let him forget his act of “chivalry”—Uncle’s words, not his—at the last port. He was convinced his nephew had protected the waterbender out of his own affection, but Zuko had done it because it was what he would’ve done for any woman.

(No, he certainly hadn’t done it because he can’t stand the look of fear on her face, or because those endlessly deep blue eyes seem to be able to read him like an open book.)

When she’s brought to the deck this time, there’s no speech. He simply gives her a nod and begins to walk down the gangplank that’s lowered to the dock. 

He doesn’t miss that she’s wearing the clothes he gave her.

(Or that she looks so impossibly  _ small  _ in his clothes, but they compliment her skin, and he can’t help the stutter his heart gives.) 

Zuko doesn’t make an effort to look at her again, or speak to her at all actually, and he can hear Uncle sigh behind him. He doesn’t care. He needs to remember that Kata— _ the waterbender _ —is his prisoner and will remain that way for as long as she serves her purpose. After that, he supposes he’ll leave her in some decent port and be on with his life, preferably with the Avatar on his ship instead of her. 

But for now, she’s his prisoner.

He watches her closely, as he did at the last port. He has no intention of letting her slip away, but she seems far more interested in this port than the last. She wanders the stalls of the market and looks around the stores Uncle makes them follow him into.

He realizes this is the first real civilization she’s seen outside of her home and how utterly new this is for her. He’s stopped here before but is now finding it much more interesting due to the waterbender’s curiosity at just about everything. 

She comes to a fruit stand and picks up what he’s pretty sure is a papaya. She’s looking at it as though it’s a person with two heads and engages in a conversation he’s too far away to hear. Zuko picks out that she asks how much, despite not having any money. The kind-looking shopkeeper responds and he sees her shoulders slump. She looks over her shoulder to him, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

Because he knows Uncle wouldn’t allow him back on the ship if he didn’t, he pays for the damn papaya and they move on, the waterbender happily munching on her new treat.

It is nearing dusk and Uncle has dragged them into another shop. Zuko is perched in his usual spot, leaning against the wall in the back, arms crossed and visibly ready to go. Uncle has brought them to a jewelry store for Agni-knows-what reason and while Uncle is once again sweet-talking to the shop owner, the waterbender is perusing the cases herself.

She stops in one corner, eyeing whatever is in the case below her very carefully. The shop owner notices and bustles over to her. 

“Something caught your eye, eh, miss?” Her words drip with honey, ready to trap the girl in another sale.

“Oh, no, it’s...well I was really admiring the craftsmanship on this bracelet here. It looks like it’s from the Water Tribe.”

The woman gives her a sly smile and retrieves a key from her pocket and unlocks the case to bring the bracelet out. Zuko instinctually takes a few steps forward to look at the piece as Katara also leans forward to get a better look at it. 

Impossibly white, the bracelet is wide and seems more like a cuff than anything, made up of seven individual pieces strung together. Zuko can see that it is carved from bone but even more impressively, a different animal has been meticulously carved onto each section. A blue stone sits in between each panel. Zuko thinks it is one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. 

Katara lets out a sharp gasp and takes a step back, inadvertently bumping into Zuko’s shoulder. She turns quickly, a hint of silver lining her eyes.

“I-I’m sorry, I have to go.” 

She all but runs out the door. Zuko makes to go after her— _ I can’t let her out of my sight, she’ll escape, she’ll— _ but Uncle stops him with a hand on his shoulder.  He turns, ready to reprimand the old man but Iroh interrupts him. “No, Prince Zuko, it is best to leave her be.” He makes to argue, but Iroh turns from him before he can, examining the bracelet once more.  __

Zuko sidles closer to get a better look that’s not over the waterbender’s shoulder. Iroh gives him a sideways glance. “You know, this would make a fine gift.”

Zuko rolls his eyes. “Please, Uncle, I don’t see who I would be buying gifts for.”

Uncle fully grins now, his trademark mischievous glint in his eye. “Perhaps a  _ lady friend _ ?”

“Who on earth could you—no,  _ no _ , absolutely  _ not _ , Uncle. She’s not...we’re not—” He doesn’t say any more due to the shopkeeper still listening to them intently. 

Zuko resorts to his usual huff, but feels his face flush nonetheless. He turns on his heel and leaves, grumbling something about “...she’s a  _ waterbender _ .”

After making sure his nephew is completely out of earshot, Iroh turns to the woman before him, a grin still plastered to his face. “How much?” 

**IV.**

It’s Iroh who talks him into it. 

They stop at another port the next week and it looks too much like the last one for Zuko to be remotely interested in it. If he had it his own way, he’d stay on the ship and practice his forms, not follow his uncle and the waterbender around some Earth Kingdom peasant town all day. But Zuko did not want the waterbender so far from him, even if Uncle and the majority of the crew would be there. 

The waterbender—”Really, Nephew, she has been on our ship for weeks now and she is a master bender. You should show her respect by calling her by her name instead of  _ waterbender _ . ‘Katara’ is much less of a mouthful…”—confuses him. Uncle has coerced him into coming to some of his daily teas with the girl but the silences when he is there are stifling. 

He has seen how she interacts with his uncle. She is open and talkative with him. He hears them laughing together on the occasions that he is not at the tea with them. He knows that she has a razor sharp wit but she uses it to joke  _ with  _ the old man, not taunt him endlessly like she does to him. 

To him, she is cold and uninviting. Most of the time. 

The girl she is with Iroh shines through to reach him every now and then. His thoughts at night often trickle back to their almost  _ easy  _ banter at the shop in the first port, how she had leaned over to him to make a  _ joke  _ to him—not  _ at  _ him for once. 

He had hoped that after her escape attempt, he might be able to get through to her. He had meant what he said that night—that he’s sorry she is scared of her element. It pains him to know that she— _ that any bender _ , he reminds himself—is fearful of that which she can control. 

But she had blown up at him, flinging words sharp enough that if they were knives they would’ve given him a slash on his cheek. No matter how much he tries to squash it, his chest aches just a little when he recalls her words. 

_ You don’t care about me, so don’t act like you do _ .

It hadn’t been an act. He doesn’t want any harm to come to her and he has done his best to ensure that very fact. He cares about her the way he cares about all humans.

But she doesn’t think so. Because he is  _ Fire Nation _ , so how could he possibly care about the well-being of others not under his father’s rule?

He had gotten angry, but he can’t blame her. He knows the Southern Water Tribe has suffered greatly as a result of the war. The last raid of the South Pole occurred the same year he lost his mother and he can’t help but wonder if the waterbender’s family had been affected. The only woman seemingly connected to the girl and her annoying brother had been that old woman with the babe in her arms. 

He hopes he is wrong.

But he knows that if he were in her place, if he was in captivity with the Water Tribe, he too would be less than kind to his captors. 

As much as he wants this war to end, he knows that the other nations are not blameless. The Water Tribe has killed many of his people. A nobleman’s son he’d been friends with was killed in a battle only a few years ago. 

Being banished from his home is one thing, but to be taken—even though she had willingly come with him, though it’s not like she had much choice—is another. He remembers all too well the tears in her eyes as she looked at the bone-carved bracelet that had been created by a member of her own. She hasn’t shown many emotions but malice so this display of vulnerability surprises him, even a few days later. 

It had been a not-so-gentle reminder that the waterbender is human and although she puts up quite the strong front, she may be just as broken as he is. 

Regardless, Zuko will not be  _ nice  _ to her, as much as Uncle insists he be. Zuko is not  _ nice _ . He’ll be firm—cordial, if he can manage it, but firm. 

But he understands why she acts the way she is. And that she will not give him the information he so desperately needs, the information he needs to end this useless war and bloodshed. (A part of him is even beginning to wonder if she has information to offer. Either she’s  _ lying _ or she’s really just that stubborn.)

She is still his prisoner but he is not cruel—he hopes he is never cruel—and so, Uncle talks him into giving the girl small freedoms.

“Uncle, letting the girl around town unguarded is not a  _ small freedom _ that is practically asking her to make another escape attempt—”

“Prince Zuko, Master Katara is a girl with no idea where she is and no money to her name, only the clothes on her back. She has nowhere to go. We have given her safety and relative comfort enough, and she would be a fool to escape with no plan. Master Katara is no fool, I assure you, nephew.” A muscle in Zuko’s jaw feathers and he breathes some steam out of his nose. “We don’t dock for a few days yet, Prince Zuko. Give it some thought.”

By the time they dock, Zuko has made up his mind. He will let the girl wander freely but give stricter instructions to the guards so that someone has an eye on her at  _ all times _ . 

When he tells her this on the deck of the ship, she is noticeably surprised. And also looks at him as though he’s grown a third arm out of his back. 

“T-thank you,” she stumbles out after a few silent moments.

Despite the blush growing on his cheeks at the sight of her mouth hanging slightly open in confusion, he grumbles and looks away. “It was Uncle’s idea. Just don’t get any ideas.” He turns on his heels and walks down the gangplank to the shore below.

At dusk, they return to the ship and to his genuine surprise, the waterbender made no attempts at escape. He gets reports from every guard in town and they all tell him the same thing—

“She spent most of the day in the square near the fountain, sir—”

“—and she talked to most of the shop owners for a while. She was really interested in—”

“—the shop with the precious stones. She even managed to convince some of the shop owners into giving her some trinket for free—”

“—which many of them were happy to do. She’s charming, you kn—right, yes, my apologies, Your Highness.”

Zuko visits her in her room that night and she has her various finds from the day spread on the bed in front of her and she’s admiring them individually.

When he enters, he leaves the door open and leans in the doorway, armor off and in his favorite sleeveless tunic. “The guards told me you were well behaved today.”

She flushes a little and suppresses a smile— _ stop it, Zuko, she’s your prisoner _ —and holds up a small green crystal he presumes she got from the store of precious gems she was so interested in. 

“I enjoyed talking to the shop owners all day. Many of them have interesting stories and are more than willing to part with some of their lesser wares for a girl with a smile.” She gives him a little smirk. “Plus, it was nice to talk to someone who doesn’t scowl at me all the time. Much more pleasant to talk to, you know.”

He’s about to fling some retort back to her but he looks at her face and the glint in her eye and realizes she is  _ teasing  _ him, not outright insulting him. He isn’t sure how to respond but he couldn’t even if he knew what to say. 

He is suddenly struck by her. Her hair is loose, falling in deep brown waves down to her waist, and she’s wearing his clothes, and joking with him as though he were a  _ friend _ and he can’t look away from her. His breath quickens but this spell only lasts for a few seconds before a crash from somewhere above deck brings him back to reality. 

She’s a waterbender. A Master Waterbender who trained the Avatar and is now his prisoner. She is not here of her own free will. 

He clears his throat and looks away. “We’re docking again in a few days. You’re free to be on your own then too.”

He doesn’t wait for a response and turns to leave. Making no eye contact with a single soul he encounters on his way back to his chambers, he slams the door to his room shut and doesn’t emerge for the rest of the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!
> 
> sorry this chapter took a bit longer to get out but witchless and i have both had to make the transition to online class and it has thoroughly fucked us up but we're here now! we're also changing up the way we write chapters so instead of alternating who's writing each chapter, we're both just collaborating on every chapter.
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed and as always, kudos and comments are always appreciated! :) 
> 
> ———
> 
> NEXT — the waterbending scroll


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